


Before We Turn To Stone

by skydancer1895



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, Everyone swears, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Like really slow, Lots of overthinking, No Major Character Death, No underage, Promise, Time Travel, Time Turner, but also angst, did I mention issues, fluff will happen, intrigues though, muggle sciences, no abusive relationships among main characters, people are problematic, slow built, smut is possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 149,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skydancer1895/pseuds/skydancer1895
Summary: Time travel. Invisibility. The multiverse theory. That person in the mirror who isn't-quite-you. Severus Snape. Pureblood-Patriarchy. And her own damn inner critique. How complicated can a life get, Hermione wonders. And when she returns from her time jump, she starts to understand that this is just the beginning.





	1. 'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to JKR, other quotes are marked as such. A very special thanks to my two amazing Betas who helped me research a lot about psychology, had a close look on continuity and the damn timeline. You girls are the best!
> 
> Warnings: Canon typical violence, bullying, swearing, loneliness, issues, and lots of inner monologue.
> 
> This will be long. This will be wordy. There is a lot of introspective and overthinking. We have loneliness, sadness, grieve, PTSD, trauma, canon-typical violence. I will put warnings before every chapter if necessary. Please tell me if you feel I missed something! Practice self care. It matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there folks. Thank you for checking in! This is my first fanfiction, mainly written to revisit the world of Harry Potter I loved a lot, and still love, and to find closure with some difficult growing-up stuff, and to try out something new, and fun of course. This will be a lot of talking and a lot of introspective, I hope you guys are down to that. In between the parts of my story, canon happens. But I am serious about the 'no mayor character death'. How this is going to work out? Well. We'll have to trust in Hermione. 
> 
> I wanted to mention that, despite the me-perspective, Hermione's thoughts are not necessarily my own. I also don't always agree with her, or the other characters in this story. I am also not very apologetic. People will get called out on their bs. Anything I consider triggering will be marked in every chapter, with possibilities to just skip it. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to ask questions, or just say hi, or leave any note about what you liked or hated or noted, or whatever you like. 
> 
> Also, no Ron-bashing. I love Ron. Hermione, well, let's see.
> 
> (I recently went through it again to fix some typos. As a non-native, I feel personally attacked by the fact that 'sighing' doesn't have a 't' in it.)

 

 

The multiverse theory has always been my favorite brain teaser. Not only because of the humble thought that our version of the world is far from being all there is – no, mostly because of all the possibilities. If every little change in a situation could lead to a completely different outcome, and if all these different outcomes could somehow exist next to each other, how close are we in every moment to any different reality, any different world, any different version of ourselves?

Sounds confusing in the beginning, I know. And way over the top. And now, add the possibility of actual time travel. Welcome to the mindfuck of a lifetime.

Oops. Yes, I, Hermione Jane Granger, used the infamous F-Word. I have to admit that I do this quite often. Ever since I first came up with the theory that some of the teachers actually _can_ read minds. That was in the first year. On the outside, I stay proper Miss Granger, but in my head I like a little shock moment from time to time.

For example when the headmaster told us about the end of our adventure in the teacher's maze back in first year, with You-know-who and Harry. I was so shocked my mind repeated something a trucker once said on a parking lot, while I was off to camping with my family. And for a moment, for a split second, I saw Professor Dumbledore _flinch._ Never told the boys, tough. Would drive them batshit crazy.

A, right, the keyword to my original trail of thoughts, crazy. Multiverse theory. All the possibilities. And even though we can never see them, never peek into them, I am sure they are there. Even the muggle scientists have my back on that. This is one of the reasons I was even able to pick up the Time-Turner at first, when it was offered to me. Because I was already used to the what-if kind of thinking you need to operate it without completely messing up.

I did, on the other hand, mess up completely. Not with time, no. With me. Now that it's over, I feel like the Hogwarts Express jumped out of thin air behind me and ran me over. Thinking that my almost-brother was hunted by a killer, not talking to my only friends for weeks, keeping one of our best teacher's dark secret, happiness-sucking Dementors everywhere, the damn finals, and a rescue mission straight out of a muggle action movie had somehow worn me out. A little. Also, the fact that I worked through the load of all the courses... All. The. Courses. Work for two or three normal people, or two or three okay years, all crammed in one. Days on repeat, nights blurring into mornings, always moving, always on guard, carefully planning every step (no one must see you!), lying and hiding. And for what, in the end?

Yes, I think that's a valid question. Of course, it had been an incredible happy coincide in the end. The only real chance for Sirius Black and the hippogriff. But for the first time, a quiet voice in my head asks if it had been wise, what Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had decided back then for me. The thought alone sends anxiety like spiders down my spine and makes my stomach flutter - a horrible feeling. It had been a favor, an exception, a signal of their trust in me! But, still - seriously. Everyone had always told me to focus on what I really want, to shoot for the moon ( _even if you miss you land among the stars_ ), to always give my best. And since that had worked most of the time, I give my best. It's not that academics is all I care about. But this, Hogwarts, is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can learn _magic,_ for heaven's sake! And everyone told me since forever that my success in school will be the foundation of my whole life. What I screw up now cannot be repeated, what I learn and earn now cannot be taken from me. I am holding my own fate in my hand, my own future, and I plan it to be _bright._

This is just how the game is played: You excell in school, you follow the rules, the doors of the adult world open for you, you pick your field and start writing your own rules. Make a change from the inside, get into the system and make it work for you. And, to be true, as much as the magical world is great, it is also very flawed. For example the way Dobby was treated, what Harry told me was just horrible. Or that, apparently, Sirius was put in prison without a real investigation - it is still hard to believe that nothing, not even Veritaserum, could have helped here...

Yes, that's it. The one thing the boys will never get. The system, the whole of it, was designed to make things work. You can break the rules, undermine it, but in the end, it was designed to help. To make things easier. And it was made by people, so people can change it. So, I give it all, always, and everyone knows that. Everyone. So, when we look at it from a logical angle, has it really been smart to offer unlimited time to someone who would for sure go into unlimited studying with it, to someone who pushed their own boundaries that far? There is this tiny voice in my head, doubting the undoubtable, and it just won't shut up.

No, I tell the tiny voice. That's highly unfair. They all told me to use it carefully and reasonably. It's not their fault that I went overboard.

 _There is a reason that it is forbidden to do magic outside school or drink alcohol unless we are seventeen,_ insists the voice. _They think we students cannot even handle that, and still, they gave you that temptation, let you meddle with time..._

 _Oh, stopp it, now._ Rationality has woken up and participates in my discussion. Good ol' ratio has always helped me to come back to the here and now. I shake my head with determination and let my curls fly like an additional exclamation mark. The voice had always been there, when I am honest, the devil on the shoulder. I blame the books, mostly. You can only read so much about Mathilda, Pippi Longstocking, and the Red Zora without creating a little rebel inside of your head, one that whispers _what if,_ as you go along and do things the right, the correct, the rewarded way. But there is a reason for the rules in the first place, right?

Enough of this, I tell myself as I reach Professor McGonagall's office. I really need to stop talking to myself that much. It's not good. But sometimes, a girl needs expert advice... Okay, Hermione, get yourself together. Don't panik. This year was mad and probably pretty unhealthy. But it's over. The burden of choice will be gone soon, and I'm going to have normal, 24-hour-days again, just as any normal, sane person out there. Yes. That's good. Okay, relax. After another deep breath, I knock.

The door opens itself, and I get in. There is Professor McGonagall, as expected, and another witch, not as expected. She probably comes from the Ministry, to make sure everything is in it's right order. After all, a Time-Turner is a sensitive matter. The other witch is quite a contrast to our head of house: She is short, plump, wears a friendly rose colored costume, and a brooch with a kitten. I appreciate that she tried to make herself look as unthreatening as possible, even tough she went a little overboard with it. But still, the thought is nice.

"This is the student, Hermione Jane Granger," introduces Professor McGonagall. She gives me a very short, tiny smile, but I notice it nevertheless. "Miss Granger, this is the First Undersecretary, Mrs. Umbridge. She is here to take the Time-Turner back."

I smile at the secretary. "Thank you for coming here, Mrs. Umbridge. I also wanted to say, thank you again for the opportunity the Ministry gave me. It has been great to learn all these things." I pull out the Time-Turner from my pocket and place it on the table. Without it, I feel strangely naked. I think I will miss wearing the necklace. I've gotten quite used to it. Maybe I will find some other jewelry to wear instead...

I fold my hands on the table behind it and try to look as innocent as possible. Professor McGonagall smiles at me. Mrs. Umbridge does, too, but her smile isn't reaching her eyes.

"Well, well, well. We will see, Miss Granger. Cornelius, I mean, the minister, with whom I am really close -" Is it really necessary to mention that _and_ to take a break to make sure everyone gets it? "has told me quite a troublesome story, that Dumbledore came up with concerning a recently escaped murderer."

I don't like her voice. And, what is even more important: I don't like what she says. Professor McGonagall's lips turn into a small slit.

"It included a lot of secret animagi wizards, dead people walking free, and a very emotional connection from our dear Mr. Potter to said criminal. I wonder if this girl, Mr. Potters dear friend, would have found a convenient way to _be there in time_ for the criminal's rescue? That would be a crime, wouldn't it? In that case, an extermination will take place, including Professor Dumbledore and you, dear Professor McGonagall. Since you have vouched for that girl."

Oh no. Oh. No. Not good. The one time the Ministry has a clue what's going on, and it is a disaster. Professor McGonagall throws me a glare that means _shut up._ I get the message. This is highly political, and everything I say could make it worse. Why did Professor Dumbledore even tell the minister, after all we did to stay hidden? But I am not scared. Professor McGonagall is here and she knows how to play. She is quite interested in chess, if I remember it correctly (which I do).

"In case the Minister failed to inform you about the whole story, Mrs. Umbridge, Sirius Black was found innocent," she answers calmly and smiles. A good way to get Umbridges attention away from me. Smart move.

"Lies!" Umbridge wails so suddenly and loud that I flinch quite hard - my nerves had really been at the edge - and, out of sheer instinct, reach for my wand in my pocket. The necklace gets tangled in my fingers during the fast move, and all three of us stare in horror as the fragile hourglass flies through the air in slow motion, dashes against the wall, and ends up on the ground.

Oh no.

"Accio Time-Turner!" Professor McGonagall hisses and points her wand at it. The necklace flies into her open hand. Looks like a spell to call objects. I need to look it up later.

"I guess it is not broken," my teacher says in a friendly tone. "And as Professor Dumbledore stated already, no rules have been broken by my students. They were in the hospital wing all along, and we have witnesses for that. If you would be so kind, Mrs. Umbridge, to hand over the formula that declares the object as given back from Miss Granger? We can discuss any further matters alone."

"Oh, I don't think Cornelius would be pleased if you all get off the hook that easily, Professor." A smile I can only describe as mean appears on her face. "You are aware, Professor, that the Ministry has knowledge of magic far superior to what you lots teach here?"

Professor McGonagall and I share a look for a split second. She highly doubts that, and so do I, after all I have seen so far. But Mrs. Umbridge smiles her smile. She looks _greedy._ "You know there are ways to reveal a wand's last spell?"

"In fact I do. I did a good deal in developing said spell during the war we fought," Professor McGonagall says quite coldly.

Umbridge swallows, but keeps her smile up. "Well, a modification of that spell had been created to find out what a Time-Turner had been used for last."

I relax. All is well. My gut feeling had told me to make sure we cannot be traced, and I took several turns to do some work as usual after the incident yesterday - sorting through my notes, crossing out to-do-lists, going through my stuff. Usual end of year activities, only for more curses than normal, therefore more time needed. And even though I am going to give up some curses, I hate unfinished business. Professor McGonagall sees my face change (I really have to work on a better neutral facade!) and luckily gets to the right conclusion.

"If you insist." Professor McGonagall hands it over to the other woman without hesitation. Umbridge grabs it out of her hand like a toddler would.

"Soon we'll know..." she mutters "if the children really went back in time, I will find out soon enough..."

Wait. There is a spell that lets you see the last thing done with a wand? And no one bothered to check Sirius' wand, if it had been used to kill all those people twelve years ago?

_Better that than admitting you had no clue what happened. Power likes to keep power, you know?_

Yeah, I've noticed. Or maybe, the teachers had developed the spell only after that incident, because they would have needed it.

"Cornelius must know... he will know...and resolve the Dumbledore situation... for the children's safety, of course..."

Holy cricket. I doubt that "resolving the Dumbledore situation" would help us "children" at all, especially Harry. Rather contradicting, I would say. But adults always say contradicting things. For example they say that everyone has to be respected, but they also say that respect is for those who deserve it and not those who demand it. At least, that one had been easy to resolve: Everyone is to be treated as respectfully as possible, but not everyone deserved to be respected as an authority. That part has to be _earned._ I am quite sure this woman does not deserve to be respected as an authority.

She gets up and points her wand at the Time-Turner. Since I am not dismissed, I stay in my place. She hisses a word at it, and then, everything happens very, very fast. The Time -Turner flies in the air and starts spinning. She casts another spell. Right in the "eye" of the twirling rings it shows schemes of me turning, and then writing lists, going through papers, collecting books. Umbridge frowns at that. She hits it again with the spell. The turning increases. Still, the same scene, me in the library and the common room. Now she gets angry, turns red like Harry described his uncle getting mad, as if filled up with hot water - and hits it again with the spell, and again, and again. At the third hit, it is pressed so hard by the magic, circling so quick that I can't see the rings any more - and then it is smashes right into my chest.

Pain.

White light.

Black.

 

The first thing I hear is my own heartbeat. Then a noise in my ears - like wind in the trees. I feel cold stone under me. As well, I feel pain. It feels as if hot grains of sand have burned themselves into my chest, my throat, my face...

Sand.

Hourglass.

Time-Turner.

_Shit._

I open my eyes. They hurt. Why has no one brought me to the hospital wing? I'm quite sure this is where I should be right now. Maybe, Professor McGonagall is hurt, too?

Carefully, I get on my feet. I am all alone in Professor McGonagall's office. It feels wrong. This is no place for a student. Merlin, when something happened to them... But there are no traces of an explosion or anything. The only odd thing here is me. I look down on my cleavage. It looks burned. My neck feels burned, as well, and my face. Not good. Really not good. As I move, I hear a metallic sound. The golden necklace falls to the floor. The hourglass is empty.

How does Ron put it so nicely, usually? _And now we're really fucked, mates._

Carefully, I grab the necklace. It's not hot or anything. It feels all normal. But I have a distant feeling that nothing else is normal in the moment. I swallow. Standing here won't help. I need to see Madam Pomfrey. As I get outside and pass a window, I understand why the whole castle is so very quiet - it's nighttime. Why is it nighttime? What did the Time-Turner do to me? I need to move.

"And who might you be?"

I am incredible relieved as I recognize Professor Dumbledore's voice. That's it. This how everything will be explained and all right in minutes. Professor Dumbledore is here. I turn around and feel that weird mixture of beaming and crying appear on my face - so much for the neutral expression.

But the happy butterflies in my stomach freeze to death under Professor Dumbledore's glare. There is no friendly twinkle behind the half moon glasses. He is standing there, dresses in simple grey robes, no hat, wand pointed at me. And his eyes are cold, so cold, and try to stare at the bottom of my soul. The hair on my arms stands up. I feel the power vibrate on my mere skin as he scans me. Quickly, I look away. This is not Professor Dumbledore, quirky headmaster. This is Albus Dumbledore, the wizard that defeated Grindelwald, the Warden of Hogwarts, and he is ready to do whatever it takes.

And I am a threat.

"My name is Hermione Jane Granger, I am a student at Hogwarts from 1991 on. I had an accident with a Time-Turner. We can go check the room with the quill that writes down all the names of the future students, or I drink Veritaserum - whatever it takes, sir, I'll do it, please believe me..."

Wow. My tongue totally outruns my mind this time. That hadn't happened in years. Usually, I think before I speak. Well, until I'm really in troubles, it appears. Very cool, Granger, very cool. But still, my subconscious already added two and two: A Time -Turner exploded on me, and in front of me is a younger, war-ridden Dumbledore, who is ready to hex me into next week and back when he considers me a danger. It's not that hard, after all. Scary? Yes. Almost impossible? Yes. A fully grown catastrophe? Oh yes. But not that hard to guess.

"How do you know about the quill?" Dumbledore asks in this quiet, threatening voice.

"I read Hogwarts: A History."

"Did you?" Now, finally, there is amusement in his eyes and he is more like the man I remember. The strong, questioning, dangerous magic softens. "That would make you the first student ever, I think. But there is a problem, Miss... Granger. The book notes a student as soon as they are born. When you started Hogwarts in 1991, and you are about 14 years old, as I guess you are - this might come as a shock, my dear, please don't faint - you are not born yet."

I swallow hard, and focus on my breath untill I feel steady again on my feet. To my horror, this is the moment my lunch leaves my stomach, right through the way it came in a few hours ago, a lot of years in the future. _Really, really fucked._

 ***

(edited formatting)


	2. train tracks always meet, not here, but'

 

"I need a room to hide her, I need a room to hide her, I need a room to hide her."

I am hidden under a Disillusionment spell while Professor Dumbledore does his best to enter one of Hogwarts' secret places, which he calls the Room of Hidden Things. A wooden door appears, and he looks so relieved that it hurts. I want to tell him that I'm so, so sorry - but I don't get the chance.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger. I will be here in a few hours and get you back to where you belong. Until then, I trust you with the rules."

"No one will see me," I promise once more. And the wooden door closes, and I am alone.

He explained it quite well, actually. Even tough I knew all of it before, it is great to have Professor Dumbledore explain things. He is calm, smart, and able to put complicated facts into simple words. I think he was an amazing teacher back in his active years. I wonder why he stopped teaching. He probably could make room for some hours if he wanted? Maybe it was the war, and after the losses everyone had he didn't want to do it any more. Maybe someone got killed because of something he taught? There is a thing about magic most purebloods don't understand - there are dark and evil spells, created to hurt and destroy, but there are also spells considered as light and useful that can do a lot of harm, if anyone cared to think about them again. Something very simple, like magically folding socks, could turn out to be quite cruel when you still _wear_ said socks. I'm glad people don't think this way, and I will definitely not share this with someone, but of course, a mind like Dumbledore's would be able to turn a thought in his head long enough to twist it.

But I got lost in my own head again. _Damn it, Hermione, you've got more urgent problems!_ Okay. There are reasons for the rule that a time-traveler must not be seen. Step on a bug, destroy humanity, the old story. On the other hand, time is a fixed construct. Whatever will happen now will already have happened in my time. It's _complicated_ , and right now it is absolutely _terrifying_. The sheer possibility that my arrival here may have set up some horrible tragedy in the future (everything is possible!) is almost too hard to bear. I know that it wasn't my fault, and I hope that I made all the right choices up to now, but still. How could I life with myself when I'd find out that my arrival here inspired Professor Quirrel to go on an adventure in Albania, for example?

Right now, about 80% of my inner monologue is just "keep calm", yelled in a high-pitched panic voice. I do recon the irony, but still, it's the only thing that prevents me from running away screaming. Just Dumbledore knowing that Hogwarts is still existing with himself as a headmaster in my time might have changed something already. This is why I need to stay low until he has found a way to get me back home.

Also, one of his amazing powers becomes a weakness now: Professor Dumbledore is actually able to read minds (I _knew_ it!). It is called Legilimency, and only a handful of people master it at all, he explained. Unless a person is able to perform the counter-magic for it, Occlumency, the mind is open for reading. A scary, but very exciting, thing. Problem is that even though he is highly trained to not accidentally read minds (and find out something he really should not know in my case), even he can _slip_. It's like reading a very good book and your eyes accidentally wander to the end of the page and there is that big, terrible spoiler. This is how he explained it to me. And oh, I know that one. How the muggles put it - the struggle is real.

This is why I'm hiding until he has figured out how the Time -Turner did bring me here in the first place, and how to get me back. He hopes that he'll be done in a few hours. I hope so, too. He healed the burns very well - I didn't expect any less from a wizard like him - summoned me some food, and was more like his usual self. Still, I cannot forget how scared I was when the power radiated around him...

He didn't tell me exactly where I landed (sorry, when) but it was a clear jump in years. It is still the end of term, and the castle is all empty. The room, on the other hand, is not empty. It is really huge, and full of stuff people want to hide. Broken tools, broken equipment, half-burned books (ouch), a birdcage, several cabinets, furniture - traces of mischief, collected in decades. But mostly, piles and piles of books. Centuries. Centuries of stuff people were not supposed to have. Maybe, when someone would care to dig deep enough, they would find broken stuff students from the founding days had hidden...

The room has huge windows somewhere in the back, and the morning light starts to flood in, making the dancing dust beautiful. I have to admit that I am fascinated by the atmosphere and aesthetic. Everything here is fallen out of time, just like me. It has this used bookstore or antiques shop vibe. I'm starting to actually become calm enough that the voice in my head can stop screaming about it. Spending a few hours here isn't that bad at all. Since the stuff will be as it is in my time, anything I might change in here will already be changed without doing harm - time travel logic still feels like a knot in my brain. But Professor Dumbledore, who can unwind the knot in his own brain without further troubles, told me to do as I please in here. Stuff hardly has a will of it's own that could be changed by my presence, therefore this room is as safe as it gets right now for me and the future and the fabric of time itself. No pressure, though.

Suddenly, I am incredibly tired. I think no person has ever had this kind of jetlag before. More than fourteen years, since I am not born yet. Around the very first corner, I see an old blue couch with some huge burning marks on it. Ravenclaw experimenting gone wrong. Some careful Reparos later and it looks stabilized again. In a cupboard behind it are several blankets someone tried to re-color with magic. Now they look like batik gone wild, but they will do. I use my robes as pillow, and with the wand next to me, I fall asleep very quick.

This time, waking up is way more pleasant. My skin doesn't hurt any more, and I am not laying on the cold ground. My mom is not a morning person, she is barely aware of her surroundings before two huge mugs of coffee - dad and me, on the other hand, are fully there once we open our eyes. So there is no confusion of where I am, and why. The room is filled with daylight now. It's late evening. I hope Professor Dumbledore found out what happened already. I told him all I know about the possible crack of the hourglass and the spell used by that Umbridge woman. Once I'm back I will tell her a thing or two about fudging around with other people's magic...! I only hope that Professor McGonagall has already developed the revealing spell Umbridge abused, or we will face the first real problem here. Or maybe it isn't the problem but the solution, and my appearance here is what sets off the spell's creation in the beginning. I wonder how long it takes to develop a spell, so we, or they, can start to find out why and how it backfired.

Professor Dumbledore told me to handle the things I might find in here with care, but apart from that to move free as I like. In lack of anything better to do, and to stop the voice in my head from yelling again, I browse the first pile of books I see. Most of them are school books, some are very pink romance novels I understand why someone wanted to hide far, far away from other eyes that could see them, some a are clearly diaries. I keep away from the diaries. Ginny's horrible experience still sticks with me. You-know-who in a book, of all things. I still feel personally offended about that. Sneaky bastard.  
I really need to watch my language when I'm back at my parents'. May have picked up a thing or two from the boys. Anyway. Books. Piles and piles of books. Books they don't sell to people my age. Staying in here is really not that bad. I pull out a DADA book for fourth graders - my slip in the last exam is still nagging on me - and snuggle up on the couch.

When I look up again, the daylight has almost vanished. Professor Dumbledore is still not here. He is probably waiting for nightfall to sneak out, or the room only opens at night. I'm getting hungry, but right now there is nothing I can do about that. Gamp's Law is still, well, law. Instead I decide to go find a lamp, so I don't have to hold my wand with Lumos on all the time. Yes, I'm lazy when no one can see it.  
I find a broken oil lamp not so far away. I wonder who brought it here, since all it needs is some glass repair and an oil refill. Probably a scared first-grader with no skills yet, afraid to be punished. The lamp is rather pretty. I take my time to clean it by hand with a part of one of the blankets, to pass the hours. Once done, I pull over a wooden chair to the couch, put the lamp on it, and keep reading. Next year is going to be a blaze, when we get someone competent enough to follow the book! Real dueling!

The wooden door opens a few hours later. Immediately I turn out the lamp and go into hiding. Could be anyone. “Miss Granger?" It is Professor Dumbledore. He brings me a sandwich, a huge carafe of pumpkin juice, and bad news. He has absolutely nothing. No information about the spell, the broken hourglass, decade-long time travel. When he tells me, an ice-cold hand grabs my throat and starts pressing. When Dumbledore doesn't know...?

 _Keep calm, Hermione. Keep calm. Keep calm. He doesn't know yet. Research, good research, takes time_.

Lucky enough, I have got plenty of that.

"It is a lot to ask, Miss Granger, but I need you to stay in this room untill I solved the problem, if you can stand it. I will be completely honest with you: It may take days. Weeks, even. But I consider your return a high priority, maybe the highest right now. So, can you manage to stay here in hiding until I was successful?"

 _And here it is again, a terrible choice an adult lets you make,_ says that asshole voice inside of me. _No, wait, it's worse. It is not even a choice. It is a manipulation. Because you are a brave strong emancipated Gryffindor, and you have to say yes, and when you start feeling like shit you got only yourself to blame. He's got you on checkmate, girl._

No, I tell my traitor heart. Get yourself together. This is Professor Dumbledore, after all! He has very good reasons to keep me out of harms way and from accidentally causing trouble, and he does his very best to solve the situation. If there is someone at all who can help me, it's him. Maybe it will take a week or two, but no one has to suffer. He will return me to my proper timeline. Maybe I will be a few weeks older, but who cares? No one will even notice that I'm gone, because technically, I will not have been away. All is fine. Keep calm, Hermione. This is a large, interesting room I can explore and move freely in, I can read, practice, sing, even learn to pirouette on a pile of books, naked. I have to grin on that odd thought.

At least, this time I won't be petrified for weeks, with a fully awake mind. Professor Dumbledore in my time has helped us all to get rid of these memories. They are now sitting in his office in pretty glass flasks. I remember frustration, bottomless despair, wild power fantasies. I have only a few moments - and I am the only one of the petrified students that wanted to keep some at all. But the experience is part of my story. To dismiss it entirely would be cheating. I don't cheat. And I don't chicken out from a challenge when it is necessary, even if it means isolation. How hard can it be? I wished to be alone in the dorm for almost every day in the last years. Now, I get my alone time, loads of it. Nothing to worry about.

"I can manage, sir," I say with the best smile I can get out.

"I am sure you can, Hermione." Him using my first name, as he does with Harry, is my instant reward. Looks like I'm on friendly terms with Albus friggin' Dumbledore.  
"Also, I want to borrow you this, so I can visit more frequently." He hands me a thin book on Occlumency. I beam at him so eagerly that I almost feel stupid because of it. But it means he trusts me with that highly complicated magic, that he wants to keep me more company, that he, Professor Dumbledore himself, might even teach me...! "Of course you will be cared for." He puts a silver plate to the chair next to my couch camp. "The kitchen will be providing you with food at every regular meal. If you want something special, just write a small note and place it there. It will be taken care of."

"Thank you, sir, but the regular meals are just fine with me. I don't want to bother anyone."

He looks at me curiously now, but doesn't ask. "Also, I think I spottet a very tiny bathroom over there. Reminds me of the first time I looked for this room. I found a whole lot of chamber pots instead of this mess. Ah, this miraculous castle!" With a friendly nod, he leaves me alone. Once he is gone, I almost jump to the sofa, clenching on the book. I read the whole thing in one go, and fall asleep with red eyes somewhat around 4 in the morning.  
As soon as I wake up, I read it again. A plate of food has appeared next to my bed, toast, eggs, ham. I eat the toast without paying much attention to it. Now I read the thin book slowly and carefully, and as the afternoon comes, I am completely and utterly frustrated. I mean, I'm quite an autodidact. But this does actually require a teacher, not some second-class meditation guide for the bored housewife. _Empty your mind... Let go of everything heavy and sad... Push aside troubles and worries... An empty mind allows thoughts to flow through but leaves nothing to investigate for an intruder... Store your valuable memories behind a softly flowing river...  
_ If they tell me next that positive thinking is the key to a successful life I am going to vomit. _Thinking_ is the key. Honest, hard, sharp, careful thinking. Jumping into a Devils Snare with a positive attitude only does, in fact, kill you. Staring into a basilisks eyes with a positive attitude does, in fact, kill you. Meeting a werewolf... Well, we all get the picture, don't we? (Who is we? I'm all alone.) Realism is the key, and Occlumency sounds as legit as Deviation right now. Still, Professor Dumbledore thinks it is worth learning. I grind my teeth. How?!

 _So this is it?,_ asks the voice _. The moment everyone has been waiting for all along, even your friends, secretly? The one assignment that breaks Hermione Granger?_

I am not so sure anymore that the voice is really the devil on the shoulder. Maybe it is has a point. But I won't break. I'll do what I always do. I will wrap my mind around it, clench my teeth into it and rip it apart to the tiniest bits, untill I find one to start with. Even if it's small, there is a lioness in me.  
For a while, I work on a wordplay with lioness and loneliness, but I dismiss it soon. Too depressing. I get up, stretch, find a piece of pie on the plate and munch it as I start my first round through the Room of Hidden Things. I carry the book in my pocket, just to make sure. Walking clears the mind, and here is a lot of _room_. Of course I know why I struggle so hard to wrap my mind around the concept. I just finished finals. Even though I handle them as a marathon, not a sprint, a marathon wears you out just as much. I need a break, that's all. If things were normal, I would be home now, watch my parent's favorite movie with them (Back to the Future - oh, the irony) and in a few days we would be off to hike in the forest of Dean. It's lovely there, trees and a campfire and stars, our old tent, a lamp inside.

That's it. The room is so huge it's easy to feel lost. People need camps, a place to come home to. That's just how a human mind works, the environment plays as much as a role as intelligence. Pyramid of needs, anyone? So now I have a goal for today. I circle the whole room untill I reach the door again, and the couch from there. There is a place I liked near the windows, tree-high piles of books, a lot of globes. I go back there and ram an imaginary flag into the ground. This spot is taken now. Okay, how did that call spell go? "Accio couch," I try. Nothing. Okay, no problem. First try. Professor McGonagall pointed at the Time-Turner. She saw it. Maybe that's the trick.

It takes me shockingly long to figure out that Accio does not work in this room. But in the end, it makes sense, of course. A room of hidden things would not be much of a hideout if you could just call on an object and have it fly to you... So, I have to manually find everything I want in my camp. Luckily enough, other magic works fine in here, and I just use Wingardium Leviosa to move the couch, blankets and chair to my temporary home. I carry the lamp manually.  
Turning one of the blankets into a tent is not that hard. There are only five things you can't create with a wand, according to Gamp : Food, money, eternal life, love, and healing from several dark curses. The rest can be transfigured, created, invented. A huge field to play with. And the closer your original material is to your desired material, the easier it gets. Even if you need to change the way you think. A pincushion and a hedgehog are, for example, close. Magic is re-learning how to think, how to see and understand the world, basically. A giant puzzle that the wizard-born don't even notice, since they are born into it. But I like the fact that I learned the muggle world first. It's way more interesting that way round. Kind of, Picasso wanting to draw like a child again, and creating something amazing in the process. So, turning a blanket to an outdated tent made of bright linen is easy. Making the couch larger and softer is easy, too. I saw a huge double bed before, but this would be way over the top. I get a pillow from it, though, and wonder what princess on a pea needs three mattresses.

As I start to collect tea cups, I understand that I actively procrastinate Occlumency. Well, I guess, I can get away with a few more hours without it. I stare at the cups I found. They look as if they belonged to a cute grandma, or the cup merry-go-round at Disney. Hm... well... why not. Absurd ideas have never been lost on me, unless they cross a certain line (caugh, wackenspurts, caugh). I find things that are a little out of place rather amusing, like flames in a mason jar. "Engorgio," I whisper and wave my wand to the mug. It starts to grow, grow, grow, until I would fit into it comfortably. Luckily enough, Gamp's law isn't for water. As I bath in the mug hot tub and enjoy the lake view, I feel myself relax for the first time in months. Harry is safe, Ron is speaking to me again, finals are over, we saved Sirius. Okay, I got lost in time, but I got Professor Dumbledore on my side. It could be way, way worse right now. Still, its wearing me out a little. I wonder if this is how Professor Lupin got the idea for that map Harry has - alone for hours in the hospital wing, disconnected, it could have been much of a consolation... at least see where his friends were...

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the kudos, you're giving me life! <3


	3. only in the impossible mind's eye

 

 

The longer I stare out through that window, the worse it gets, up to the point where I want to smash my head against a wall untill this room and the lake view fade out for good. The students outside (yes, summer is over already, yes, I am still here) flooding the grounds are a walking line of trigger memories. Even though it is completely impossible, and I know that for sure, I keep seeing familiar traits in them. Neville's posture, a dream-walker like Luna, raid hair, a slim boy on a  broomstick,  from time to time. I know that I only see something familiar in these people because I really want to. I miss my friends and family a lot, and whenever I find spare parchment, I write them letters. They're starting to pile. I will, of course, destroy them before I leave. While I sit here in that room and watch from the sidelines, life goes on in Hogwarts.

  
Academics isn't going as smooth as usually. The structure of lessons, homework, eating, sleeping is blurred by the lack of lessons. I have started to pick up random books, go through them, and start a new pile around the camp when they seem to be remotely interesting. I found a half-burned book for NEWT level that mentions ward rune magic. It's from the 60's - looks like the wizard world had their hippie years, too. A lot about the hidden meanings of ancient ward runes and how they speak to the magical core. I know that wards aren't taught at Hogwarts anymore, since the subject is considered dubious - that's rich, coming from people that actually do teach divination. Still, the leather bound book with the embossed warding symbols feel nice in my hand. It's weird, but went on the pile.

  
The only person I have talked to is the headmaster. He comes in every three or four days. He thinks I'm doing okay with Occlumency. In lack of other ideas, I came down to actually imagine my memories floating away before I talk to him. It seems to work well enough that he can talk to me for five, sometimes even ten  minutes, but once I get excited about something it all goes down really quickly, and he leaves as if Fluffy himself is after him.  I still struggle to re-think for that quest. Emotions are an extremely valid part of human psychology, dismissing them can have horrible consequences. I read plenty on that, and I see it first hand on Harry each time he tries to deal with his problems all alone. Not so funny to be around him, then, more like a nice game of hit the pot in a mine field. Still, there has to be a healthy, smart way to get this Occlumency thing rowling for me. There must be, if I ever want a conversation longer than "Sorry, nothing yet" in my life. And I really do want that conversation. As interesting as my inner monologue is, I'm getting on my own nerves in a never-known intensity.

  
I haven't seen another person than him for roughly two months, and of course no one has touched me. No hugs, no gentle pat on the shoulder, no elbow poking. Weird how much I miss this, the casual connections. When I'm back, I will hug Harry for a month straight, and then Ron. There are no paintings in here, only empty, broken frames, but several mirrors. One showed me exactly that, me with Harrys and Rons arms wrapped around my shoulders. I hexed a blanket over that one as quick as I could and hid it in a dark corner full of spiders. Haven't looked at it since. Don't trust anything that thinks for itself when you cannot see where it has it's brain. I got that. Really, I did. And after Harry's story about the Mirror of Erised I am definitely sure that I don't want to have that problem, as well. I am lost enough already.

  
After six weeks of begging, Professor Dumbledore brought me a Daily Prophet  with his sad headshake. Originally, he wanted to keep me out of this timeline as much as possible, but I just couldn't stand it any more. I am both happy and completely in shock when I see the date. 1975. Didn't leave the tent for a whole day after that. Harrys parents, Sirius, Professor Lupin - everyone is here right now. As students. I am in the Marauders era. The paper is full of dark signs, of Death Eater reports and people gone missing, but also full of weddings and babies born. As if all the people are trying to enjoy their lives as much as possible. Everyone but me, in the eternal silence of the Room of Hidden Things.

Thoughts about all kinds of horrible outcomes are nagging on me and keeping me from sleep. What if, because of some reason, it could be my fault that Harry will lose his parents? What if I get noticed by, let's say, Peter Pettigrew and somehow scare him so much that he turns dark? What if? What if? And do my choices even have a meaning at all? Everything in my time is at is is, just as it had been with Buckbeak and Sirius (we never saw them being killed, right?), so can I destroy something at all that isn't meant to be destroyed? Or is it, in the end, not even true? Can time be rewritten, and it is just not known? Did people do it before and just never told someone? Mighty, smart, or just really desperate people? When all possible outcomes of any situation exist at the same time in the multiverse, do they maybe, in fact, exist here?  I have started chewing my nails again.  
To keep my mind away from that, I started to keep almost violently busy with anything I can think of. Studying, writing,  exploring, even mapping out the room. It's an octagon, and I drew it on the backside of an old Quidditch poster. I explore the grid squares one after the other, taking notes, adding hints and objects. I know it's a little obvious fangirling over the Marauders' map, but everyone who saw this thing has admitted that it is an incredible piece of magic. Thinking that they developed it as students... Also, this mess of a place gets easier to navigate in time, and I start to find more interesting stuff when I look with a plan. I'm not like Harry, I dont easily notice things others don't. But I remember things well, and I start to find my way around.

My camp has become quite elaborate, now when I think about it. I even found a target in here (who wanted to practice archery at Hogwarts at the first place? That's insane!) I can practice duel spells with. Of course I would prefer a teacher to show me, correct my pose, encourage me, it even sneer at me to push me through it.  
At least, the Disillusionment charm starts to work out really well. When I first started with it, on my third day here, it was more like a chameleon effect - I was blending in with my surroundings. But the more I trained, the better it got. How I know that? Because right now, I am staring in a mirror of a pittoresque dressing table. And I see almost nothing. There is only a silvery shimmer, or gleam, around my silhouette when I move. I am invisible. It is both incredibly scary and exciting. Even better than the cloak, since you don't need to be scared of accidental exposure. I stare at the empty mirror, and suddenly I am full of hope for the nearer future. I must not be seen, eh?

  
I am so eager to show Professor Dumbledore that I can't sit still. I wander around the room, go to the windows, pull my hair. With that, I could get out, sneak into classes, see other people... When its two in the morning, I understand that he isn't coming.  Maybe because the newspaper complete screwed with my already weak and shaky Occlumency. Suddenly, it makes me nervous to be invisible. At least, I want to be able to see myself. I wander to the dressing table and take the oil lamp with me. I am not afraid of the dark, have never been, but the whole point of my nighty stroll is to see myself.  Maybe I should bring the table to the tent, even if it is pretty girly...  
The Disillusionment leaves my body softy, and I take a moment to take a closer look at myself. My face is skinnier. Not that I am short on food, the kitchen provides me with more than enough. But often, I'm not really hungry. My sleep rhythm is messed up, too, and I skip breakfast so often my mum would be worried sick. It starts to show. Also, my hair is even more of a mess than usually. I need a better brush than the wooden comb I managed to change an old fork into. I open one of the drawers. Some glow-in-the-dark-moths fly out (they are everywhere), but there is no brush. Only a box full of Harriet Mangolds Magical Hold-All Hairpins. I take the box and turn it around in my hands. Ten galleons - a fortune for stupid stuff like that. I stare at the hairpins and wonder if I should try to do the chignon that my mum taught me some years ago. I decide to not give it a go. I like my hair open. I like it that its bushy and wild and untamable, I like how it feels on my shoulders and that I can hide my face in it. I also liked how uncomfortable it made Parvati and Lavender, at first. They knew how to hex each other's wake up frizzle into shimmering cascades floating down their shoulders before they knew how to let a feather fly. By then, I was sure it was brave to show them how much I didn't care about my or their looks. Now I think it would have been even braver to just ask them for help. But I guess it's way too late for that now. Three years of ignoring each other can hardly be undone, can they?

  
And I got the boys. I don't need anyone else, and to be true, I never really know what to say to other girls. A general problem - I hardly know how to chitchat. So I end up saying stuff I read and annoy the hell out of everyone, except for the boys, maybe. It's  almost funny that I ended up being the oddball at a magic school, too. It's like the G for GEEK is written all over my face, wherever I go I take it with me. _Granger-Geek, Granger-Freak, geeky freaky beaver teeth_ \- I still hear the kids sing in my head, and the longer I am in this silent place, the louder they get.

  
_No_ , says the rational part of my brain. _Shut up, memories. You don't need a bunch of nine year old assholes now, 'mione, you need to focus._

  
 I need to focus on the next chapter of DADA, so I push the memory away and go home. Oops. To camp. The camp is not home.  
Two whole pages in, I finally understand what I just did. I pushed the memory away. I know that I dealt with it already, talked it over with my mum back then, had her explain to me once more that the other kids didn't really understand what they were doing. It was just a silly song to them, a joke to see my reaction. The frequency of these incidents should have made my reaction quite foreseeable, but they didn't care for that, either. It wasn't really about me, it was about the fun of rotting together and circling someone, a prove of their alike-ness by pointing out my other-ness. Unlike the mudblood incident, I shrugged it off back then. And now that I don't really care any more about my muggle classmates from almost six years ago, I can just let it go.

                      
 And that's it. That's Occlumency. Not chopping off emotions. Just push away memories and feelings for a while, to get back a clear head, a clear focus. Shrug it off, deal with it later, or file it as dealt with.

  
Shocked, I let myself fall flat on my back on my couch-bed. I have been using Occlumency, or something similar, for years without knowing, when studying had been more important than anything else. Wow. I even enjoyed it. I always liked the excited silence in my head, when all the wild-flowing ideas shut up for a moment to focus on something specific. I take deep breaths, and start to shrug it off. The shock off 1973, the loneliness, the twirling memories from last year. My mind is just like this room in the moment, mountains of crap. Not an environment that is good for studying, a nice place to stroll, but not at all efficient. And I am Hermione Jane  Efficient Granger. I can do better. I could do better at eleven, for Merlin's sake, when I solved Snapes puzzle in the room with the flames.

  
 So I shovel it all away, mentally, and search for the radiant focus I sometimes get when I work on a really difficult problem. I overheard my parents some years ago when they remembered their university years, calling it the work flow. This is what I'm searching for. The work flow, the focused mind, relaxed and open, when the best results are achieved. The river the book was talking about, I am sure this is it.  
Twenty minutes later, the door opens, I hear steps, and Professor Dumbledore enters my tent. "I am sorry to drop by at this late hour," he says cheeringly "but your amazingly brilliant memories and thoughts finally stopped leaking out the door."

  
"Oh no... sir, I am so sorry..."

  
"No harm done, Hermione. I didn't see anything, but now I see that you are very much on your way to master the skills of Occlumency. Rather quick, if you allow the compliment."

  
"I - thank you, sir." To keep the flow going, I don't dwell on it. "I have something else to show you." I sit up straight, pull my wand - oh, I wanted a chance to show him what I can do ever since - no, stopp, Hermione. No memories now. Keep the flow. I Disillusion myself, untill I am almost perfectly invisible.

  
"Oh, very well done! Almost perfect, Hermione." Invisibly, I beam at him. "I am glad you put your time to good use. I also have news for you. Minerva just informed me today that she had a very interesting idea concerning a nice little piece of magic that may reproduce a shadow of a wand's last spell."

  
"Oh, sir, these are amazing news! But sir..."

  
"Yes, dear?" Professor Dumbledore encourages me.  
I have thought it over and over again. In the end, I decided that to save my remaining sanity, I need to keep believing in the Fixed Timeline theory, that everything will be as it is in my time despite or because whatever happens now. Maybe it is not necessary for me to suffer here alone forever. So, I present my idea to him. "Sir, I was wondering... since I want continue putting my time to good use... I was wondering if I could participate in classes, sir. Disillusioned, of course." Please please please please please...

  
"Hermione, I am afraid this is not possible. If anybody at Hogwarts just gets a single glimpse of you.."

  
"The spell -"

  
"The spell wears off in time," he interrupts me. "Also, some of the staff can see through it. We are at the edge of  war, Hermione, and having you stroll around the castle would not only endanger you, but everyone else, and if you were seen, questions concerning our security would rise."

  
I nod. I have, of course, thought this over as well. But I am so tired of being alone. I feel so bad. I never believed I would have such a hard time because of that. But there is a difference between being lonely and being completely alone. I can deal with lonely. Every geek can, probably. We learn it early on. Buy completely and utterly alone just sucks the life out of you. "There are other schools," I plead and cannot really manage to keep out the desperation. I miss out so much, I fall so far behind.  "Beauxbatons, or Ilvernmorny. If you  arrange something, sir..."

  
"Our enemy has ears everywhere. I am sorry, but you have to remain here until I can bring you back.  Your feet cannot touch the ground of the castle anywhere outside this room. Keep up the good work, Hermione. I'm counting on you to be responsible, but considering the fact that you were entrusted with a Time-Turner at all shows me that I need not worry about it."

  
"Sir! Please!" I jump to my feet as my focus breaks, and the feelings - the sharp sting of missing my friends and family, the debilitating slowly passing days, the damn SILENCE in here - flood back to the surface. I reach out, maybe to grab his arm, maybe to storm the wooden door. But he shakes his head sadly, leaves, and I sink to the floor, sobbing.

  
After a while, my rationality comes out of it's state of shock. It has been lost in the crap of my mind for a while, but when I cleaned up first, it stuck it's head out from under the bed. Metaphorically, of course. And now, in my darkest hour, it comes to share it's wisdom: _You are on the floor, sobbing. It's pathetic._

  
Yes. Well, after all, I'm right. And I pick myself up again, even if it's only to go to bed. When I awake the next morning, armes clutched around my own chest, still shaken from my old nightmares of being petrified, I decide that this has to stop. I need to change something. I get up, ignore the pile of books and the plate with breakfast, and start my stroll. It feels pointless, and so slow. Out of nothing, I start to run. I run as if I'm hunted. I only make half the circle  untill my lungs scream and my sides are burning. Still, it is a difference. I am hurting, which means I am still here. I am not a bodiless ghost. I have a body, and it is miserable. But it's here. I am still here.

  
I don't see Professor Dumbledore for six days. After seven dead silent days, where the only human face is see is my own in the  splintered mirror of the dressing table, I hate it so much I want to claw my skin off. Instead, I do that chignon. I ram in the magical bobby pins so violently that I can actually feel the hair being damaged. I don't _care_. Once the hair is out of my face I feel a little better. Lighter. Next step is to shrink these teeth. So long, beaver. It is tricky and I have to be highly alerted, but hey, after all it's me we talk about. I will tell my parents some story about a hex going wrong. There is an ugly one that makes teeth grow. Any Slytherin could, or would, have used it on me if they got a chance. They always find a chance to hex the mudblood.

  
"Mud on your face, big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place," I say to my face in the mirror. My voice gets lost in the big room. Also, it's not the voice I am used to. It's more quiet and a little throaty. I don't use the muscles enough... I stare at my reflection, stare myself down without blinking. I go into Occlumency without finding it hard this time. Just push it away. It feels good to push it away. I feel less caged when my mind it clear, it's just like stepping outside into the sunlight after taking the last exam. Since I found out how much I like that feeling, I do it a lot. Maybe it's just an escape, but it's the only escape I have right now. I watch my face become distant, smooth, almost aloof, as I focus. It's the way Professor Snape looks when he isn't sneering - _oh_.

  
I take up a routine again. I find an old alarm clock that has been charmed to turn backwards. With one of the books from the pile in my tent, I manage to reverse the spell at the second try. Now, I get up at seven, run as many times around the room as I can to get my head clear, jump in the bath mug, and practice Occlumency while my hair dries naturally in the daylight. I study for the day, and around five I wander the room and continue working on the map. I go to bed at ten. A solid, controlled day, but after three more weeks, the routine cracks. I wander more and study less. I can run for longer, now. I found a rhythm of steps and breath, and it starts to get boring. So, I add jumping. I jump over small piles of books, over benches, and when I feel secure, even on furniture. I don't know why, but it helps. The little voice in my head has become really obnoxious. It keeps using words I could have never used back in my time, not when  Professor Dumbledore is involved. It says _forlorn, forgotten, forbidden - betrayed._

  
Dumbledore makes himself scarce, and I keep busy with collecting books and other stuff I find interesting. The gramophone is most frustrating. I brought it to my tent weeks ago, but I just don't know how to fix it. When I return from the first time I managed to run three full rounds through the whole room, it stares at me in silent triumph. I'm still in a runner's high, and suddenly I am mad as hell at the thing. "Reparo finally, shithead!" I hiss at it and wave my wand way too careless. The needle jumps to the vinyl as if I scared it, and a moment later, I hear real music. For the first time in forever. Music. It is so good it makes me cry again.  So much for the exact and delicate art of wand magic, I think. Sometimes it is really just point and yell. 

As I dance through my tent to some crappy old rock tune I wouldn't like normally, I put music records on top of my list of stuff to find.  And in the next days, I do find stuff. So much of it that after while, I am sick of carrying it all around. Why doesn't the stupid Accio charm work here?  I remember the thrust cars from the London Magic Library (once I graduated I might work there, or just live in it) that float behind you, and decide to create something like that myself. Why not? It's useful and I got nothing better to do. A broken shelf is found quickly, and I work out a combination of spells. Wingardium Leviosa for controlled movements, a simple Hover Charm to keep it in the air, a Duration Spell to ensure that it's not falling out of the air. A durable Inanimatus Conjurous so it follows me around. The part where it comes closer and moves away by a wave of hand (not wand!) is more tricky, but I have seen several people do it before, and finally find something in _100 Tricks for Seductive Suppers That Will Definitely Get You His Attention_. Never judge a book by it's target audience. The shelf has four boards of wood, which is good. The first board breaks, the second floats up to the roof, but the third one is a succes.

Nice. Very nice. I make it follow me around immediately and wander the room once again. When I reach my favorite window, the board hovers behind me and I lean my elbows on it for a short break. Then, it hits me. What I've done. I have created a hoverboard. Just like the one from Back to the Future. If dad knew, he would cry  tears of joy.  
Now I have no other chance: I have to learn how to fly on it. Brooms and me never went well, but if I stay as close to the ground as a skateboard would, this could actually be fun.                                      

As quick as I can, I run back around four piles of books, a red cabinet, and two globes. There it is, the very outdated double bed with three mattresses each. I break in sweat as I pull the heavy mattresses on the ground. The bed looks strange without them. Naked.

_You really got to stop feeling sorry for objects, Mione. You need to focus._

  
I do it the way I prefer things to be done: Step by step, founded on a logical plan. That means, first of all, I make my board hover above the mattresses as deep as possible, and just stand on it. Or, to be honest: I try to stand. I fall to the softened ground so often that I start to wonder if I got any talent for sports at all. But I got the hang of the running and jumping, so why not give balancing a try? I've got all the time in the world right now, since nothing happens in the matter of my accident. But I don't want to get sad about it now.

  
In the end, it takes me three days. Three days of stumbling, of shivering knees, of falling, of overly sore muscles. But when the light of the fourth day rises over the mattresses, I - finally - stand, arms outstretched, weight on my balls of foot, hovering half a meter over the ground. I feel that I start to smile, to grin, to laugh untill my face hurts. With the slightest movement of hand, I make the board float forwards. And promptly, hardly and unavoidably land on my back, still laughing.

  
The rest is a stroll in the park, compared to working out the basics. The best part of a plan is when all the tiny pieces start to work out. I use my board like a muggle surfer kneeing on it and paddling on the waves to get the hang on the hand steering, and in the end, I stand on it like a real surfer, pushing it forwards and around with gestures, and do the rest with my body. I lean in, I let it go slower or quicker, I make it turn.                                                  

The fear of heights that almost made me vomit on a broomstick is under control when I have my feet safely on a hard surface. My stomach still flutters, but in time, I will get used to it. People can get used to almost anything in time. And, well, I've got time.

This is nothing I would have ever considered doing in my real timeline. The energy it takes, the feeling that I would come off as a total bragging prick to anyone watching me, the skills of body, the danger of falling, crashing, getting hurt - I would have considered it all a big damn waste of time, potential, skill. But here, in the Room of Hidden Things that has become my whole world, nothing of this matters. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can allow myself to play.  
Also, it helps me to discover more of the room. I hover through it, look at the very tops of piled things, wonder how anyone could have gotten the stuff up here. _Magic, probably, 'Mione_. I finally find a set of robes, a big brush, and a stack of comic books that make me laugh so hard I almost fall off my board to the mercilessly  hard ground just by reading the title: Rise of the Silver Surfer.

In the next two weeks, I basically live on that board. I sit on it with my legs crosses under me, hovering over the bed, reading. I make my adrenalin rise by dangling the legs down, as if I sat on a swing. I hover around the place until my core muscles hurt so bad from the constant contraction that I need to lay down in fetal position for some hours. And then I start to run again, run and jump and run, and bring the board under my feet in the jump. I train that untill I get a good grip every time, I train on it despite skinned knees and leg cramps. I map out a route, getting faster every time I try it, feel the adrenalin, the fear in my stomach, my sour muscles, the music in the background, and the control I got over that piece of wood - and for the first time since my accident, I feel happy.

 

 


	4. horizons beat a retreat as we embark

 

 

Two days after my best flight yet, Professor Dumbledore honors me with another visit. I hover behind his back, Disillusionment on, a little over his head, for a whole full minute, until he says: "This time you have outdone yourself in hiding, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir," I say quietly. I wanted to say it very confidently, but after being silent for some days, my voice fails me. But a grin jumps to my lips as I notice that Headmaster Albus Percifal Brian Wulfric Dumbledore jumps, ever so slightly, in surprise. I make myself visible again.

"Professor, as you can see, my feet would not touch the ground of the castle anywhere outside this room..." I feel the triumphant grin on my face turn into a cunning one. I have to admit that this idea really just came now. But, if I'm allowed to say so, it is bloody brilliant. Does it feel like that to be a Slytherin? Elegantly work your way around boundaries you don't consider valuable for yourself? If so, I get it now, why they strut through the castle if it belongs to them.  
I disillusion myself again and hover there, completely still, almost without any movements. I get anxious while waiting for his answer, but I didn't study Occlumency this determinedly for nothing. Just as my body is, I turn my mind completely still, focus on the floating board, focus on him and nothing else. The rational, controlled part of my brain that is allowed to stretch out completely during this process notes that I basically turned myself into a ghost right now, and wonders how I would deal with the sudden shock of other humans, other kids, around me. Just like a starving person that starts eating again very slowly despite the temptation of a full meal, I, too, would have to start slow.

The boys always said I have a kind of death-glare, similar to Professor Snape, when I am focused. And right now, as my focus is as bright and clear and fixed as never before, sulking in every little detail about the headmaster both subconsciously and with all my waking senses, to deduce his answer before I even get it, I see that he feels my stare despite my Disillusion. And for a split second, a quarter of a heartbeat, _he backs off_ . And then, Professor Dumbledore's eyes sparkle. A smile appears in the corner of his mouth. "I still don't know how to sent you back, and I see that you put a lot of effort and skill into a way to stay as unnoticed as possible." He sighs. "Forgive me my ignorance - once you are old, spending time by yourself in a quiet place becomes more of a luxury and less of a punishment. I cannot keep you in here forever, it seems. I think I can trust you with that, Hermione. Go on, then. No - hover on. But be aware, _no one must see you_. Also, make sure you are here at every midnight. When I find a way to sent you back, we will meet here, then."

I almost can't believe my luck, and I also can't believe that I bubble out: "What about the teachers who can see through the charm?"

He sighs again. "Minerva already suspects that I am up to something. She won't like it, but when I tell her that there is a student in hiding... Witness Protection Program, as the muggles call it... she already accepted a lot of other things I asked from her in the last years. She probably won't even ask that much."

"Thank you, sir," I whisper. "Thank you so much."

_What for? You did it all on your own, H. You got yourself your own wings, and that you are going to fly now is on you and you alone._

He could still have neglected me.

_And would you really have listened to him, then? Be honest!_

I can't be honest, because I honestly don't know any more. I am just glad I wasn't tested.

I take a deep breath. And another. Three and a half months in this room, and now I want out so much that it scares me. Being overly excited makes you careless, stupid, vulnerable. I learned that in my second year when I ran back from the library, right into a huge ass snake. So, I wait. I take a bath, clear my mind, change into the robes I found. They would be outdated in my time, long, dress-like robes in black. Just in case anything goes wrong, blending in with the other students is my emergency plan. Also, I don't miss the grey skirts at all. Stupid things. I practice my flight skills with the robes, to make sure that it has no influence on it... Okay, I put off going out. I'm scared, like a lab monkey confronted with an outdoor park for the first time. That's what my solitary confinement did to me.

So, I hover around the book piles once more, as I see something glittering. Carefully, I bring the board down, lean in as much as I dare, and pull out the object. It is a knife in a leather shed and has Alfred Cutterlys All-Cutter engraved. I've heard a lot about these. They are right on top of Filch's list of forbidden things. Of course, no one wants the students to have pointy weapons, and it would make potion brewing an easy, enjoyable task without having to battle ingredients - something Snape could never allow. Blimey, someone might even _like_ it then. But, technically, I am not a student, right? I put on my belt. Finders' keeper.

Now, with the knife, I feel safe enough. I don't really understand why, but I put this question away for later. The robes fit well, my hair is secured, the charm is on.

_That's as ready as it gets. Time to go._

"Alohomora," I whisper at the door and hover out, kneeing on the board, making myself as small as possible. I am on the corridors again. It smells of food, sweat, perfume, rainy air from outside, rusty metal. The pictures whisper and move, a cat strolls by, there are voices in the distance. Sensory overload, and this is only the empty seventh floor between classes!  
It takes all I got to not run back to the Room of Hidden things. I think that without the books, the board, the music and Dumbledore's visits, I might have gone down the rabbit hole already. Also, Occlumency helped a lot. It's quite a useful skill, even more so since there are mind readers around. I wonder why no one talks about it. No, actually, I do not really wonder. The Ministry never wanted us to know too much, or cared to investigate causes like Sirius, and also they are crapping their pants over Dumbledore. Of course they don't want us to know. And the teachers...

_H, you are putting it off again. Move. Get out._

I sigh. Okay.

It is midday until I have worked my way down to the first floor. The Great Hall is a challenge for another day, and I hover near the charms classroom. I hope that Professor Flitwick is already teaching it. I like his elegant style with a wand, and I plan to sneak in with the next students. They will come in a few minutes, and I comfortably cross my legs under me and lean my back on a pillar.  
_Stay calm, H. Stay calm. This is just school. You are invisible. No one will bother you. All is well._

Suddenly, I hear steps. Someone comes running. Private affairs in between classes, I think with a grin. I've had plenty of these myself. But the boy that appears around the corner does not look like he's up to something quirky. He is slim, his robes are almost ragged, and he has sleek black hair. I recognize the look on his face from the day we met Harry after detention with Lockheart. Something, or someone, is after him.

I pull out my wand, just in case. I know that I must not intervene, but three years with the boys created certain reflexes.

Three other boys appear behind him, also running. "Carpe Reactrum!" yells one of them, and a rope whips out of his wand and binds the first boy's feet together. Nothing softens his fall, and he moans after he lands heavy on his face. Outch.

"Nice one, James! Petrificus Totalus!" Their victim freezes. The three boys stop. One of them looks so much like Harry that it's like a slap in the face, but I do hope that I'll never see this ugly triumphant expression on my friend. The other boy is way too pretty, and he smirks. Third in this row is smaller, plump, has a round face. He struggles most with the chase and props his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. I think they are older than me, maybe in fifth grade.

"So, Siri, what are we gonna do with dear Snivellus now?"

"Hmmm, let's think... ee had the bat bogey hex this week, the wobbly legs, growing teeth... How about a pig snot as a nose?"

The plump boy laughs. "As if anyone could tell the difference!"

The other two look at him with - what? Almost fatherly pride?

"Right, Peter, right you are. How about we turn him into a skunk for the day?"

"Can we pull this of?" Peter worries.

"Even if it goes wrong, who cares?" James Potter asks. I have to face it. These are James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, peacefully discussing what they could do to a helpless Slytherin student in front of them. I feel as if someone had just stabbed me, and I am glad I am leaning against the pillar. I am frozen in horror. In my loneliness, I had forgotten how cruel people can be. Something a nerdy moodblood should really never forget. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't been that wrong about solitude being a treat, not a thread. Now horror overwhelms me.

In one version of reality, my horror turns to anger, and with the anger rises my power. I manage to free the boy with a whispered spell, and he runs of. In another version, my anger is so huge that I endanger my cover and hunt them like an angry invisible hippogriff. And in yet another version, I turn myself visible just to yell at them, and cause a really huge amount of chaos. But I have to admit - and I am sure that guilt will hunt me forever - that this version of Hermione Granger, me, is just as frozen and desperate as back in first year with the troll and the devil snare. I lean on my pillar, I feel tears in my eyes, and I stare on the scene in front of me. Harry will never ever hear anything about this, I swear to myself. That is all I can do for now, considering Dumbledore's orders and my own coward traitor heart. It is all too much, too loud, too bright, too intense, too scary.

"Well, gentlemen, what kind of mischief is going on here?" A Professor appears on the floor. I am so relieved I really start to cry, even tough I think mischief is not quite the right word.

"Oh, nothing, Professor Slughorn. Just a little discussion," young Sirius Black says with a huge smile to the man.

Professor Slughorn sighs and shakes his head. "Boys will be boys, my poor nerves." He waves his wand at the Slytherin. "Out and about, Mister Snape, I guess you all got classes to attend?" As if this was just - banter. Something that happens every day. Oh God, what if it did? What if this was the way things were at Hogwarts twenty years ago?

_What if this is the way Hogwarts is right now, and you just happen to hang with the right crowd for once? Remember when everyone accused Harry to be the heir of Slytherin? Remember everything Neville has to go through everyday, from the Slytherins, Snape, even from your own house?_

As if Slughorn had used a keyword, the corridor starts to fill with people. I can hardly believe what I see. He just lets this... slip? How? Why? He can't do that?

"Horace?" I hear the disbelieving voice of Professor McGonagall. She is shockingly young, and shockingly unimpressed.

"Ah, Minerva. Your little troublemakers are at it again, I think," Professor Slughorn says cheerfully. Meanwhile, young Snape (!) manages to get on his elbows.

Professor McGonagall frowns. "Why are you even here, Potter, Black, Pettigrew?"

"We were off to see Remus Lupin in the hospital wing, Professor, and we happened to run into Sniv- Snape."

"You hexed me!" His voice does not have that dark timbre yet I know from later years. It is also not so secure. Just a boy's voice.

"Well, after what you said back in Herbology about Pandora..." James Potter also _sounds_ just like Harry, only that I have never heard that tone from Harry. Not even with Malfoy, not even when he was mad as hell.

"I said nothing about her! Macnair said something, but he's too strong for you to face when you're short one guard dog, right, Potter?" Now he sounds more like himself, sneering and sharp, and he knows how to hit the mark. Interesting choice of words, too. Does he know something? But overall, I'm still too shocked to think much. The teachers just stand here and let this fight happen right under their noses? All the students have circled the scene now.

"You laughed at what he said, Snape!" Sirius hissed.

"So it's forbidden to laugh when your _elaborate_ humor isn't the source of it, Black?"

Suddenly, all the wands are out. "Enough!" McGonagall commands. "Mister Snape, detention."

The ring of bystanders breaks open when another group of students comes through, all three of them Gryffindor girls. As soon as Snape sees them, he closes his eyes. Pain flickers over his face, and he turns his head away, hiding under his greasy hair. All eyes are on the girls now, and I hold my breath. Something is about to happen. Quietly, a redheaded girl steps forwards, and helps Snape back to his feet. She is actually the first person that seems to care for him at all. He doesn't look at her, still, and after some very long seconds of crucial silence, she sighs and goes to stand back with her friends, head held high. She is ready to fight anyone who would be stupid enough to just look in her general direction. No one does.

"Black, Potter, Pettigrew, you too, detention on the weekend," Professor McGonagall commands and breaks the atmosphere.

"But, Professor -"

"After the game, of course, Mr. Black," and with that she's off to her classroom. Wow. She isn't nearly as mad as she is with us for less. This is just... I have no words. Baby Snape snorts. Without interrupting her way out, Professor McGonagall hisses: "If you would understand anything about teamwork and sports, Mr. Snape, you would realize that it is not fair play to punish many for acts of few."

I can hardly believe this. Professor McGonagall actually walks over a student for the greater good of Quidditch. Too bad everyone loses their head over that dumb game. I still can't process what happens. This is just - too much. So bluntly unfair. Still, I decide to not jump to conclusions. I don't know anything behind this incident, I have no background information. And this is Snape, after all, I doubt he's an angel. And he seems to be on good terms with that horrible, Hippogriff-beheading asshat Macnair, and I have seen someone as good and pure as Harry losing it with Malfoy... Still, the cold way they debated about what to do with Snape...

When Professor Flitwick shows up, I don't find myself able to sneak into the classroom. I just can't. This isn't the Hogwarts I know and love and _understand_. This is a dangerous, colder, strange place, and I dont feel as if I can stand it right now. It's like finding out that your crush used to kick puppies. So, when the classroom doors close, I keep making my way around the castle. Almost without wanting to, I make my way to the library, take a seat on top of the shelf for History of Magic, anchor my invisible board next to me, and wrap my arms around my legs. I stay like that for a long while, and watch the light change in its familiar way, wander down the wall and end up on the floor. In many ways, this is more my home at Hogwarts than the noisy, stuffed, red-tapestry Gryffindor tower, and after hours of silence, I finally can think again. So this is what I do. Thinking. Processing. Trying to understand.

I stay there untill it is late evening. Baby Snape enters, finds a table where he has his back secure in a corner of a wall and a bookshelf, and gets out books. After a while, the redhead from before joins him and approaches his table.

He looks up. "Evans."

"Snape."

They stare at each other with serious expressions. Than, Snape breaks out into a wide grin.

"Glad you could make it, Lily."

"It's Thursday, and our date is still on, isn't it?" Lily Evans smiles an open, friendly smile, and sits next to him. She intervenes his huge comfort zone so casually that it can only be due to a very long familiarity. I finally get out of my knee-hugging, move to my board and hover closer. They don't notice me at all.

"Sev, you promised to try it..."

"It wasn't my fault, Lily. I really try to get out of their way, but somehow they just _find_ me. I don't get it, really. And..."

"What happened in class?"

"Pandora was being ridiculous over nargles again, Lils, and Walden said that they probably lived in her hair. It wasn't so much of a good joke, but he has been down a lot since his brother joined, so we all laugh when he tries to be funny. That's it."

"Pandora is down a lot, too, since her aunt and uncle were killed by Macnair's brother's friends," Lilly Evans sais sharply. There they are, two kids my age, discussing Death Eater activities over homework. One will be dead in only a few years, leaving a baby, one will be - yeah, what? A teacher, trusted by Dumbledore, a bully, a dark, a strange man with so many secrets. But one thing had just become painfully clear to me: I know now why he treats the students the way he does. He learned from the best.

Baby Snape bites his lip. "This sucks. All of it. Too bad we two couldn't just be stupid Hufflepuffs, growing whatever Happy Plant our good ol' Sprout got so amused about last week." He sighs.

"Mean, Sev." Lily pokes him with an elbow, but smiles.

"Anyway... thanks for standing next to me, Lily. Thank you for being my friend."

I have never heard him thank anyone before. This is a whole different world, here. Maybe it is for him, too. The sanctuary of the library allows it.

"Always." She pulls out two rolls of parchment, and with the same natural generosity Harry has in him, pushes one over to Snape. "Same deal? You go through my potions homework in return?" She clarifies as he opened his mouth in protest.

"As if you need that."

"But I want that."

"Oi, and the day Gryffindor's princess doesn't get what she wants, hell freezes over and Merlin goes skating on it," he sneers. Lily rolls her eyes on that. "With the O.W.L.S. coming up I'm not taking any risks. Oh, no, Sev, did you write in your book again?"

He snaps his book away from her, they engage in a short and quiet fun fight for it (which he clearly wins) but in the end they start working.

I sit on my shelf, very grateful for my invisibility. The face I pull is very probably not smart at all. My jaw dropps so low it may smash my knees. Snape and Lily Evans, future Potter, are friends. The Marauders are bullies. The teachers are unfair, even McGonagall. If I go outside, the sky is probably green.

Snape and Lily are friends. I push away the thought that neither Harry or Ron would have moved one centimeter away from my side in a setting like the one on the floor. But again, I don't know the back story. Maybe he doesn't want her to be more active. He is a proud, closed man in my time. Maybe he is like that already.

The thought comes back when after two hours of peaceful work with occasional jokes and banter, the two girls from before enter the library and wave at Lily. They come to sit at the table, too, and baby Snape mutters an excuse and gets away. Lily just lets him. It is so, so sad. So this is friendship? This is all he has?

 _No, wait, H. I don't know the whole story_ .  
I can't judge the situation right now. If I want to have an opinion on that (and I know that I want one) I need to know more. But still, here I am, twenty years in the past, feeling sorry for Professor Snape.

That night, I wait for Professor Dumbledore so eagerly that it hurts. He doesn't show up.

 

___

Thank you very much for your kudos, bookmarks, and sticking along! I will not abandon this story, even though I write slow.

Let me know what you think, ask whatever questions you like, or just say hi :)

 


	5. on sophist seas to overtake that mark

 

I know that it's a flight, and that it isn't very brave, but I don't have many chances. It is important that I keep undercover. Nothing in the History of Hogwarts ever gave the slightest hint about me. The book, by the way, is an incredibly interesting piece of magic. It updates itself. Whenever something significant happens in the castle, the book  knows, as soon as the headmaster knows. This is why it knew about the Chamber of Secrets, but not about the basilisk.  That part was added after our adventure.

  
And this is my flight. After all the time I wanted out so badly, I now avoid it whenever possible. I try to withdraw to books, school work and other literature, the ever growing piles of books around my tent. I try to take as less of this new (old) colder darker Hogwarts in as possible, and focus on myself. I do the reading for school, and the practical exercises, but I don't do the writing. Actually, the writing has always been a waste of time for my personal progress, it is only important for the teachers to see that I do indeed know the answers. There may be people that can only remember things after they write them down in their own words - poor souls. Reading things has always been enough for me. Also, it shocks me a little how fast I can pace through the stuff when I don't have to drag the boys along. I love them dearly, I really do, but studying just isn't a group thing.

  
The time I win is spent with my silly hover tricks, and light reading. I read hopeful poems, things other people wrote to keep going. I learn it by heart, as I learn everything by heart that impresses me, write it on the huge chalkboard I imagine my mind to be. Often, I find myself staring out of the window for hours. The woods there have become a dream goal, a place of longing. Something I want to disappear in. Not forever, but maybe for long enough, untill everything stops aching.

  
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I've got promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." I quote Robert Frost out loud, to remind myself that I cannot just vanish. I need to get home. And I need to adjust to the world again, it there won't be much of me that could return in the end...

  
Of course, as another point, it is impossible to ignore everything completely. I participate in classes, and they happen to be almost the same classes Baby Snape is taking. I was right in the beginning, he really is no angel himself. But many situations also do escalate because if the actions of the Marauders. A lot of conflicts in my time are resolved by someone shrugging and walking away. Even Draco Malfoy things highly enough of his own dignity to not hex someone who has his back turned on him. I am ashamed to admit that this makes him a more honorable opponent than the Maurauders. Especially Sirius Black is not limited by this kind of dignity, so whenever they clash, it cannot end without spells.

  
Snape tries his best to life up to his future reputation. He has a sharp eye for people's flaws and insecurities, and uses them mercilessly when confronted; even going so far to bring the Marauders absence every full moon to the attention of the publikum (there is always publikum. It makes me sick.) But he hardly ever starts it, unless you count staring as starting. They keep plopping into him, and I am quite sure they use the map for it. Makes me sick as well. I still don't know how it started, but it keeps going, and no one seems to care. Even Lily does not defend him that much. Once he is in, though, he uses all tricks possible. Some of them are really dark. I wonder what I'd do if I were fighting outnumbered one to four every other day. Maybe just hide. As I do now.

  
Without him to fight, the Marauders are just what I imagined them to be (yes, I did spy on them. Sue me. I was homesick for Gryffindor tower, okay?). They take care of each other like brothers. James is the only one from a happy family. Sirius has been hated by his parents and brother since he was sorted into my house, Peter Pettigrew seem to be the family disappointment just like Neville in my time, and poor little goldenheart Remus suffers silently and is still astonished by the fact that he actually has friends. I can read that in his face. I know the expression from my photos with Ron and Harry. They are the only four Gryffindor boys of their year, and their bond is so strong you can almost see it.

  
Anxiety runs down like spiders down my spine whenever I have to witness how everything, posture, facial expression, tone and choice of words, even the way they interact with each other changes when they face Snape. James becomes a cold and efficient wizard who overlooks a situation within seconds, finding possible outcomes as easily as Harry finds the snitch. Sirius turns into a German Sheppard Dog in human form, ducked, hard-eyed and ready to attack, moving in complete synchronization with his best friend, aware of everything. Remus, senses sharpened and stretched out to the edge by his condition, always has their back, absolutely and definitely. And chubby little Peter, who is clumsy and friendly in the tower, mothering and hugging everyone, has a spark of desire in his eyes when it comes to violence that gives me a cold lump in the stomach.

  
Also, that war cry. First I thought it was a Four Musketeer thing, but the more I hear it, the more it sounds like cruel foreshadowing: "In with a lightning, out with a blast." One starts the first part, the others yell the second, and then they clash with the Slytherins. I wonder if they will carry this into war, and war will claim them soo  enough. They already are the wizards of the first resistance they will be in a few short years, fierce and dangerous to an amount I could never imagine peers of my age to be. And the way they defend Dumbledore to the point of dueling anyone critical, even in their own house, in mere seconds makes it clear where they stand.

  
I have absolutely no idea where Baby Snape's loyalties are. Maybe only with Lily. He does hang with the Slytherins, but they don't defend him from the Marauders or include him much, at least from what I have seen. Yes, I did follow him, too. The days are pretty long when you're invisible. He is invisible too, but in a different way. A more painful way, because it's not intentional. Mostly, he is alone.

  
He is also on his own that first night we really meet. I am in the library again, long after bedtime, and enjoy the silence. The only thing that moves are the books I accio to me from time to time. I put away my recent book and Nox the light when I hear hasty steps, and I hide in mid-air, hovering, with my charms on. I recognize Snape's voice as opens the door with Alohomora, sneaks in, and tries his best to melt with the darkness behind the shelves.

  
 Again, he has that look on his face. They are the hunters, he is the prey, and he isn't that good at it. And in that moment, I can't watch any longer. What if  he was Harry? As quietly as I can, I whisper a locking charm, just seconds before someone tries to open the door.  
Someone rattles the door. "Come on, Prongs, he isn't in here," I hear, and then people run away.

  
Snape sighs. I sigh, too. Maybe a little too loud. He freezes.

_Damn it, H! What the hell is wrong with you?!_

He stares into the darkness. And then, heartbreakingly defeated, he says: "Just... come out and get it over with, okay? Just hex me, and I try to defend myself, and we can go on with our night. I'm really tired, and I don't want to run any longer."  
He sounds so very tired and sick of this game. And so am I. I really don't want to scare him, and I don't want him to stand there like that.

_It's Snape, H, he bullied Neville to tears within the first week. And yourself, too._

So I will just stay silent? No. I hope to be better than that.  It's just so wrong.   That's not who I am, not who I was brought up to be, not who I want to be. And I don't want him to be scared even more. Not in here. This room means shelter. I make a decision. Everything I do has been done already in my time. Also, I did interfere already, now I can just keep going. Screw it. Screw doubts, screw overthinking, screw the ever-awake inner critic, screw the rules.

  
"Don't worry... I mean no harm" I whisper as quietly as I can. After so many weeks of not speaking to anyone but Dumbledore and myself, this is more exciting than I thought it would be. My heart is beating so loud I can hardly hear my own words. Still, Baby Snape has heard them just fine.

 He jumps and raises his wand in my general direction.  
"Who are you? Where are you?"

  
I hover away from the wand. "I don't hurt students," I whisper. My voice seems to be just right for whispering now. I am not sure if I could speak up if I wanted to.

  
"Are you... are you a ghost?"

  
"Something like that..."

  
"And what side are you on?" He still points his wand around and stares so strained as if he tries to pierce the air.

  
"I am on nobodies side because nobody is on my side..." I quote. "But I belong to the castle."

  
We both wait. Nobody moves.  He bites his lip. "If you wanted to attack me, you already would have."

  
"Indeed."

  
"And if you think about betraying me, better think twice. I know how to play. You will start it but I will end it, and you won't like how it ends." I have to admit that it doesn't sound like empty threats. Not at all. Not with him looking way more confident than he should at his age and in his situation. He is, I understand, not as far away from Professor Snape as I thought him to be. The power in him, he hides it. For the better, probably.

  
"Is it wise, threatening something you can't see...?" I ask. There is a little amusement in my voice, and he immediately catches it.

  
"Do you find me funny?" The words are hissed.

  
"Yes, little snake." I hover to another side of the room. "I don't get much... entertainment."

  
He turns around to follow my voice. "I have a good deal of practice with enemies I can't see. I am damn sure they got an invisibility cloak, these boys that..." He interrupts himself. It's hard to admit.

  
"...hunted you." I finish. _Helpful by nature._

  
"You saw them, then?" He frowns.

  
"Who, do you think, locked the door?"

  
His face turns even paler, and then, it lights up. "Not me. You... helped me? ... You helped me." And then, the miracle happens. He lowers his wand and relaxes. Young Severus Snape turns his back on me to go to the window and sit in the window board, back leaned comfortably on the thick stone wall. "You belong to the castle? That's interesting. Never heard of a whispering library voice before. Hello."

  
He and Professor Snape are two completely different people in my head right now. I get a little dizzy from how often that changes. He is a curios boy, hiding in the library from bullies. Hello, mirror. I really want to keep that conversation going, even if its just for the sake of having an actual conversation (or so I tell myself).  
"Hello." I say.

  
"Um, are you only a voice?"

  
 "No... not really, no."

  
"So do you have... um... a body? Since you locked the door?" His voice isn't threatening and sharp any more, and really not sarcastic. He's just curious, and I consider an honest answer.  
A body. A body means being seen, touched, held, looked at. A body means structure, texture, reality. Actually, I feel nothing of that any more. Not really. So I don't even feel like lying when I answer "No."

  
"But you said you are no ghost, either. Well, I guess it doesn't matter, does it?"

  
"I think not..."

  
"I am Severus Snape. Slytherin," he introduces himself.

  
"I know..."

  
"Unfair." He grins. It's the same tiny grin he shows around Lily, hidden in the corner of his mouth. "You know much about the castle and us, I guess, and I don't know anything about you. Not even your name. Do you have a name?"

  
"Not any more." Doesn't feel like a lie either.

  
"Well, if you don't mind, I will call you Whisper."

  
"I don't mind. Why are you not afraid?" For all he knows I could be literally anything.

  
"I'm not afraid of anything," he sneers, and throws his hair out of his face with a harsh move of the head. I have actually seen that one before. When I was just eleven and set him on fire. After he had fixed himself up again, he made exactly that move.  
 Back then it astonished me how calm he had reacted to being on literal fire, as if nothing could ever bring him out of his balance, not even spontaneous combustion. The longer I hang around here, the more I understand that he has already seen worse by _now_.

  
 "I don't think you are a prank, Whisper. They are hardly good enough for that. And I am used to talk to things around Hogwarts others ignore. The Grey Lady, or the house elves."  
He tries so hard to prove to me that he's not a loner that it's sad. Actually, a lot about this kid is pretty sad. Mostly the fact that I don't mind talking to him, because I'm quite sure he has no one else to tell about me. Still, I have to make sure.

  
"I am a secret..."

  
"Don't worry, Whisper. I can keep a secret. Also, I maybe want to return to talk to you again. No need in spoiling it."

  
Laughing sounds weird when you whisper it. Only H-H-H. But he seems to be content with himself for making me laugh.  
"And you? Do you talk to students a lot?"

  
"No... This is a first..."

  
"Then I'm honored." He rolls his eyes and his little bow is more than sarcastic. There he his again, the infamous Professor S. "Aren't you allowed?"

  
No need for him to know. "Most people aren't worth...  my time."

  
"And why should I be?"

  
"I do not explain myself to little boys... see you again... round here..."

  
And with that I carefully hover up to the bookshelf and hide in my dark corner. Baby Snape scratches his head, snorts, and jumps back to the floor. "See ya, Whisper," he says loudly and strolls out of the library, now with way more confidence in his step.

  
It is strange. When we talked I felt calm. Happy, even. Relaxed. It was easy.  
Now that I am alone, anxiety comes like a big fat tsunami wave. What the hell have I done...? My heart is pounding in my throat when I finally leave the library, my hands are sweaty, and my knees shake so much that I have to sit on the board and paddle like when I learned to ride it first. Only when the door of my hideout closes behind me and after I have raised the protective spells around my tent and turned visible again, my breath starts to normalize. Then, my mind gets the best of me once more.

Back then, when I was frozen while facing the troll and the devil's snare, it was not because I had no idea what to do. It was because I saw _all_ the possibilities, all of them, each and every possible outcome of each and every step I could make, linked in endless crossroads, and most of them ended in certain death for me and others. And I was so young, too young and too slow with my mind, to decide which one to chose.

  
 I am older now. My mind races, races, and I see possibilities, but more chances than risks. For example, the chance of me not going completely batshit crazy from loneliness, stored away in the Room of Hidden Things like all the other broken stuff people wish to forget about so hard.

  
_It's okay, H. It's okay. Keep calm. Keep calm. Breathe._

  
On the silver plate where I get my food, I find a note in a familiar handwriting. "Dear Hermione, sadly I cannot inform you in person, but very urgent business calls me away immediately. Please forgive me that I have to put off our delicate little problem for another few weeks. I trust you to stay low."

Weeks ago, Albus Dumbledore trusting in me would have made me jump for joy. Literally. Now, after my trust in him to keep the school a fair and safe place has vanished so much that I find myself curling my lips. My dad used to say "It hurts to find out our idols are human," whenever I came running to him because someone had disappointed me. Like the day I found out that adults all over the world KNEW about the fact that elephants were hunted and about to go extinct, and didn't do anything against it. "It is us, the people that notice things, who are in charge of the problems we find..."

My dad is a wise man, maybe more than I gave him credit for. I start to think that I have to find a way back home on my own.


	6. where wave pretends to drench real sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Suicidal thoughts. If you want to skip, stop after "I fall" and start again at "It is a command". Stay safe friends <3

Once you start thinking about alternative universes, it is really hard to stop questioning every outcome of every situation ever. For example, I know how important first impressions are, and that my gut feeling is almost always right. For example when I first saw Harry, I thought "friendly, absolutely clueless" even before I recognized him, and for Ron I thought "loyal, absolutely clueless". Of course, to a certain amount I was right with that- but I also underestimated them completely. A mistake I don't make any more.

For Professor Snape, my first instinct was "this one is trouble". For Baby Snape it was "this one is IN trouble". The two impressions keep overlapping each other, the more time I spent with Severus. Our paths don't cross that often, though. I have ditched most classes for the sake of sixth year courses. Unsaid spells and Advanced Arithmancy are way more interesting to me than the newest episode of Marauders Vs. Slytherins, our daily teenage drama show. The only thing I have to endure in the advanced curses is the dazzling enactment of the romance between Gilderoy Lockheart and one Rita Skeeter, who are about to intrigue their way up to Head Boy and Girl position. While it is perfectly clear that they love nothing as fiercely as themselves, they do appreciate the admiration a dream couple gets. Whatever made them break up probably saved us from them as ministry double-trouble.

I don't have the tiniest bit of guilty conscience concerning my change of schedule. I had ditched fouth class already to sneek on the OWL preps, and no one will take my exams anyway now, and if I ever return I'll be right back at the start of fourth class and won't have troubles to catch up... Anyway, the few times I see Baby Snape, it is late at night in the library. Like many Slytherins, he elegantly slithers around curfew whenever he likes.

I wonder how I would feel if the first impressions would have been the other way round, but that is really just a play of thought. Professor Snape, troubled? The man that can dominate an entire aula with one look? Never. At least, never back then. Or, _in front_ , then. It's different now, that I start to get to know his boy-self. I have to admit that he almost never starts the troubles, but quite often he is the first one with his wand raised. Actually, I can understand that. After years of torment, you just kind of wear out. I punched Malfoy in the heat of the moment, no need to be a hypocrite. Anyway, if it had been the other way round, I would have never talked to him, not once, and certainly no regularly.

"Whisper? You here?"

"Yes. But you shouldn't be... It's almost midnight."

"I can avoid to be seen. One of the few benefits of being ignored." He sighs. "Uh. That was probably an asshole thing to say to someone who is just a voice."

"Don't worry, Severus Snape, Slytherin."

"Sounds like a title when you say it like that. It's time to pick my own soon... I'll tell you about it later. Can I ask you something, Whisper?"

"You already did..."

"Merlin. You are quite a smartass for someone without an ass."

I laugh my strange whisper laugh. "All right, Baby Snake."

"Don't call me that. To the point: It's been six weeks since we met, and in that, four times we talked. And for me, even tough I have to admit I am not the most observant person" - that is really not true - "I came to notice some things. For example, the armory seems a bit off since a while. A few days ago, a helmet fell down and alerted me before I could be hexed in the back. And that cat, Mrs. Norris, suddenly appears in dark corners where people could lure. And two days ago when they did the Pertificus Totalus and left me in the dungeons, the Baron came by only minutes after. It's weird, Whisper. You don't happen to know what this is all about?" He asks it all with a sly grin.

Smart kid. Sadly, that's all I can do for him. "An old castle can be mysterious..."

"Yes."

"And things happen... all the time..."

"Yes. Seems like that. I thought you were not allowed to leave the library?"

"I never said that... also there are many ways to accomplish a goal."

"You never said it, but you let me believe it," he says sharply. No word-turning bullshit with him. When adult him is really that close to Dumbledore, _how does he even cope_?

But then he sighs again. "I don't need protection, you know? I made it on my own up to now."

"I'm not protecting."

"So, what are you doing?"

"I am... drawing attention to certain thinks. Hints for... others at Hogwarts, others people do not see. Then, I watch what happens. It is interesting." Once again I am honest. I don't even know why I tell him that- maybe because I hope he takes a hint and drops throwing hexes for the sake of brains.

Also, I would really like to be his friend. His real friend, as I am to Harry. A friend who sits with him at dinner and throws pillows at him when he's being an idiot in the common room. I don't know if it's because he is the only person I talk to, and if I'm about to cling onto something I wouldn't even try otherwise, or if his smart and curious character (that he covers up with brooding) fits my love for learning, or if it is because of his disarming sarcasm, or because I have always had a soft spot for the underdog... Whatever it is, as long as I am stuck here I won't shy away, even if I hide under spells.

Also, I have to admit that I don't want to talk to anyone else in the moment. The others are either too loud, or too intense, too pack-oriented (I still cannot stand a bunch of people even near me) or simply too stupid. Boom, yes, here it is. I am running out of patience with people way too soon now. And the Gryffs... Remus Lupin, maybe. He has a gentle and calm energy, but he is either with his unnerving pack, or in too much pain to notice me. So this is it. I have actively chosen to reveal myself to Severus Snape, from all people. I don't know how I feel about hiding it from Dumbledore, though. Good thing I haven't been tested yet.

"Draw attention, hm? That's all?"

I let him linger on that. He doesn't really want an answer. "Tell me about the title..." I ask instead.

He looks uncomfortable now and pulls a face. "It's actually a Slytherin Secret, uh."

"A secret like me?" I tease.

"All right," he grins. The grin lights up his whole face. "Most people don't know, but Salazar had a lot of interesting letter exchanges with people from all over the world. One of his pen pals was an old druid, who told him about how in ancient cultures people could chose a name when they came of age. He liked that idea very much, and we do it ever since, when we turn fifteen. Some people use acronyms, some use nicknames they already have, some aim higher and built something new, get it?"

I feel a cold shiver run down my invisible spine. _Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort_.

And they all do it. As a joke. The name that is so feared in my time that only the brave and the foolish say it started off as a Slytherin inside joke. Merlin's beard.

"For example, Macnair plans on calling himself the Butcher, but I think its a little over the top for someone who yells for Avery when he sees a spider." He grins, and I grin back, somehow sure that he knows I'm doing it. "Narcissa Black, Malfoy I mean, went with Ice Queen. Everyone loved it, her birthday party was really funny. She drove around in a tiny ice carriage the whole night, waving and throwing candy. Mostly Turkish Delight, even though Lewis is kinda out now, going all nuts over muggle religion as he became in his late years. Embarrassing, really. Did you know Bathilda Bagshot was friends with him? Anyway, Cissy was brill. A queen every inch she was," he sneers, but with a gentle smile hiding in the corner of his lips.

It's weird hearing someone speak of Slytherins as funny, quirky, nice people that are afraid of spiders and have silly nicknames. In a few years, these funny, quirky people will go out to kill and torture others. It is almost impossible to imagine that, here in the library with Severus, who don't seem to be able to stop talking once poked.

"And you?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe something with my mom's last name, or a play on dungeon bat, but Lily said it was stupid. She didn't really get it, I'm afraid. It is supposed to be stupid. It's a game. Everyone is allowed to be silly, and when you pick a good one that shows you know about your own flaws, you gain respect." What an outburst! So much hope in his face, suddenly. He looks way younger, and his black eyes sparkle. It is weird, how expressive he can be. In the classes, the halls and the corridors, his face is so closed, and his body language is limited to the minimum.

"You know, it's like we make our own rules that day. Fake titles, fake royalty, lords and ladies and a Highborn Knight of the Sweet Ananas. That's Professor Slughorn, by the way. His peers called him HK."

He looks sad now, biting his lips. The hope has vanished, and the memory of him trying to tell Lily about it flashes over it. I'm happy that he has is guard down low enough for me to see it, but I worry about him, too. This friendship with Lily is, and I apologize to Harry in my head every time I think this, somewhat toxic. They both take part in that, but it is really more criticism and accusations, uncleared misunderstandings and shaky allegiances. Maybe the whole situation is too difficult for some teenagers.

_Since when exactly is age an excuse, H? Look at Harry and Ron. It is difficult in your time, but they would never avoid you when they see other people._

But how about my own behavior? Now, I'm biting my own lip. If I ever return to my time I'll have to make up a lot of things to a lot of people. For real.

But right now I want to cheer up the person in front of me. "Have you considered... correspondence? Like Salazar?"

He raises an eyebrow. "With whom?"

"Interesting people... people who can follow your thoughts... on potions, maybe. You said you hate group work because they are all morons... but you need someone to discuss with."

He snorts. "Nah. They're probably all morons, too. And I got you. You are smart. What you said about the Levitating Theorem..."

"When you think I am smart... consider my advice."

Now, he frowns. It is probably new for him to be encouraged. With anything. "They won't even talk to me. I'm just a student."

"You are a Slytherin. I'm sure you can find a way ..." As the muggles say, on the internet no one knows you are a dog. He just has to get there somehow on his own.

He rolls his eyes, but a few days after, I see him write down some addresses of potion researchers from recent publications. It's weird, when I suggest stuff like that as myself, a girl, people call me a know-it-all, when I do it as a bodiless whisper they call it advice.

_It's not weird. It's patriarchy. And you don't have a thing for underdogs, you are the damn underdog._

Uh, the voice of reason. Long time no see.

_Well, you are the one who hushes me every time, H. And what are you even doing? You know that this leads absolutely nowhere, right?_

Wrong. After a few days, he has received an answer from a Potion Master in France, who was very curious about the improvements to the Dreamless Sleep Draught Severus suggested. He has come to the library to open it with me, and when he reads out loud the discussion and encouragement to the "young brewer from Australia," he actually beams.

"Why Australia?"

He shrugs it off as if it's no big deal. "Interesting potion scene over there. Easy access to venoms."

"And that is all?"

"Keep your invisible nose out of my business, will you?"

"That request makes no sense, Baby Snake. Even if I said yes... you'll never know." I laugh silently, but since I am actually reading over his shoulder, he feels my breath in his neck.

"Hey!" He moves his shoulders and rubs his neck. "Don't do that."

"Sorry..." Shocked, I almost jump-hover away and hide on the next best bookshelf. Too close, way too close, what am I even doing?

"Eh, don't bother."

But I do bother. I almost gave myself away. It had taken weeks for me to be able to be physically close to a person again, and now I am hiding, shaking. I almost blew my cover because I had become too comfortable!

"Whisper? Are you still here?" But I can't answer now. I don't trust my voice. What if its shrill and shrieking again? Or completely gone? Severus looks lost on his chair in the library, holding his letter, and I feel lost in my dark corner. This really isn't a state a person can live in...

"I have to go for now..." And with that I swish out of the room and back to my sanctuary.  
_Get yourself together, H, solve your problem. No one is coming to save you. You can't be invisible for the rest of your life. Save yourself._

Thirty hours of research later, I feel like I am near a breakthrough concerning the Time-Turner. When Severus had mentioned Australia, a bell rang in my head, and once I was done shaking and cursing my own carelessness I started to follow that trace. It has been in the book Professor McGonagall gave me when I got the Time-Turner first, called "Time Travel - Risks and Responsibility", and in that book there had been that sentence in the first chapter, Concerning Turners: _The rare Time Crystals can only be found in Australia, and have to be carefully crushed to gain Time Sand. Due to the multiple accidents in the gaining process, the fabrication of Time-Turners has stopped in..._

So now, my new mission is Australia. If it is impossible to find something about the Turner itself, maybe the raw material will give me a hint, I thought, and went through all the books I could get my hands on. I am still hesitating to hover up to the biggest pile of crap I have found yet, it reaches up to the ceiling.

I take a deep breath. It's all for the mission, right? Carefully, I hover up. And up. And there at the very top waits the book. _The Gifts of the Red Continent, by N. and P. Flamel._ Like an old friend waving at you from a distance. I feel the smile breaking through my tiredness, the dense feeling in my shoulders is eased as I carefully reach out for the book. And then there is pain. A sudden, sharp, well-known pain, a knife stabbed into my guts and twisted. Black circles in my vision. My breath stops in my throat. My body freezes for a moment, I am in the air, petrified, _always petrified_ \- I lose my balance and in a second that turns into an eternity I feel my feet lose contact with the board.

I fall.

And I fall.

Seconds like years. Thoughts racing. Time has always been soft on me in the moment of danger. Maybe I have never been in such a danger before. If I get hurt now no one can help me. No one will know that I am here. No one will miss me.

If I die now no one will know what happened. Maybe not even Dumbledore. I have the Disilluision charm still on. I will be invisible, forever unfound in the Room of Hidden Things.

But the voices in my head will be silent. No more doubts. No more mistakes. No more impossible decisions, no more fear of the events falling like dominoes by my every move, unstoppable, unchangeable, as I watch in terror from a distance, reaching out but nothing reaches back...

 _Save your damn self, H, now_.

It is a command, coming from within, and I obey. I save my damn self. My first cushion charm ever turns a huge cardboard soft like feathers. Desperation is one hell of a magic chanel. A heartbeat after the uttered Latin leaves my lips I land, sink into the now soft wood, get thrown back, and land on the floor. It hurts. I lay on my back and dare not move. Memories of children on a primary school playground appear. Faces that look from above, cold sand in my back. _Did we kill her? Uh, we'll be in troubles. Looks like beavers really can't fly. Why did she let go?_ ... I hadn't. They had pushed me. Lured me on it first, and desperately hoping for friends I went with them, and they had pushed me. A joke. A laugh. And I had picked myself up after some careful breaths and walked away.

I take some careful breathes. Nothing seems broken. The sharp pain in my abdomen is still there. Worlds worst-timed period cramp. This time, it was my own body that pushed me. Too little sleep, too little self care, months of lacking the helpful regulation potion Madame Pomfrey gives out so we girls can keep functioning. I was too proud or too awkward to ask for it. Stupid me.

 _Get up, H. You can't stay there. You have to transfigure some hygienic products, drink water, get that book and find out about time sand_.

But I am so tired. It hurts. I dont want to take care of everything any more. I want to be taken care of. Just once. Leave me alone. No one will know that I'm being weak.

_You will know._

Beavers can't fly.

 _And they win? After all these years? Get up and walk away_.

And even though it is the hardest thing I have ever done, I get up, and I gesture the damn board back to me, and I lie on it on my stomach, flat, shivering, so scared I could vomit, shaking, but still going, as I hover up the pile.

I shove the book down with a broomstick. It lands on the floor with a heavy _thudd_ , pages wrinkled on the ground, spine broken.

_Could have been you._

Hasn't been me. When I am finally back in the tent with the book, I find it more than useful. What I read in there is almost as valuable as the courage I found, the strength to pick myself up again. Just as if the room had placed it there for me, for this sole purpose. Maybe Room of Hidden Things is the wrong name.

Reading it feels like a hug from the formerly mentioned old friend. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, who we researched in our first year, present me a hint like an early Christmas gift. After the Philosophers Stone, a Time Crystal is probably a piece of cake, I thought. As I read it is not. Gaining Time Sand is probably the hardest and most delicate work in the whole history of magical artefacts. They both strongly advise against it. "The wise builder of a Time-Turner rejoices to material already at hand."

I read the last sentence out loud. Material already at hand. And suddenly, it makes sense.

As soon as the dawn comes I hover to the floor where I crash landet (right back on the horse). I have to get out. Have to on several levels. The corridor I had my accident in is left alone once more, and the thick carpet doesn't look like it has been cleaned since my fall. I can even see some spots of blood in there when I look closely. Dumbledore has cleaned it himself, I guess, to not bring attention to the matter. I wait untill the floor is absolutely empty, and then I prepare the mason jar and my wand. "Accio Time-Sand!"

As it turns out, I am still able to scream. I had started to doubt after my silent fall. "Finite Incancatem! Finite!" The sand that had started to fly out of the carpet falls back with a rattling noise, sounding shockingly loud in the complete silence following my painful outburst. The grains of sand that were still under my skin, rubbed into the wounds from the glass sheds by my fall and accidentally sealed in by healing magic, stop trying to burst out. The pain has made me visible (some things are stronger than Disillusion), and I stare at the spirals and patterns the sand forms directly under my skin. It looks like very, very beautiful scars, or white tattoos - also, it looks as if I have absorbed at least half of the sand from my broken Time-Turner. How is that even possible? I really don't know how I feel about that.

A door is smashed open, and I hear hasty steps. Of course, my yelling hasn't gone unnoticed. "Accio time sand from the floor, carpets and walls!" Quickly, before it gets dragged away by many curious feet, I let the sand fly into the jar, Disillusion myself and hover up to the ceiling. It's easier when I lay down flat. With the board under me and the ceiling in my back, the height is almost okay. And it is a good hiding spot. Nobody ever looks up. Here. I am finally allowed to cringe in pain, and shake as much as I like.

It is Professor Flitwick who comes to check on the empty corridor. He casts several spells, and I feel magic touch me, but since I am student and welcomed by Professor Dumbledore himself, it does not consider me a threat. Phew.

"Filius? What is going on?" A second player has entered the stage.

"Oh, nothing, Minerva, I guess it's nothing. Just some Yelling Frisbee I would say. Why don't you check what your Marauders are up to? Now that I think about it, I haven't seen them since lunch yesterday..."

But Minerva, her animagus senses perfectly in line, looks up like a cat looking up to a spider. Dumbledore said it himself, she is able to see through it.

"Yes, I will go see on them. But don't worry, Filius, they know that when they are in troubles they can always come and speak to me."

Flitwick looks confused, and it surely isn't a normal statement in a conversation like that - it is meant for me. I appreciate it, but I am in no temptation to follow it. She didn't believe us in first year with the stone, she didn't protect Harry in second year when everyone treated him like a danger, and I am still not over that Quidditch favoritism from my first day out. More often than not, I want to shake people and yell **succes in sports is not more important than people** untill they finally understand. As I said, my patience with people is wearing thin.

Also, I am saving myself now.

Once I'm back in my tent, I place the glass with the time sand in eyesight. I like the way it swirls and turns, almost hypnotic, like a galaxy of it's own, just like the swirls on my wrists, or the dancing snow outside...

  


 


	7. Well then, if we agree, it is not odd

 

 

Christmas is truly coming, only two weeks ahead, and I am watching the castle fill with trees and ornaments and gifts and cheer. The mood catches on to me and I have started working on something for the only two people that really know I'm there. Professor Dumbledore will get the time sand and all I have found out as a receipt to perform the extraordinary magic to get a timetraveler back where she belongs. For Severus, who is so painfully struggling to keep his emotions at ease, I need to be more careful. He has never been one for the sledgehammer.

In good old Hogwarts tradition, I have charmed one of the old diaries with some riddles to open them, and then I put in all about Occlumency I have read or found out myself, combined with questions and observations. A real field book, and the lettering, dating and details all point in the direction of Jeanne Baret, the first witch to have completed a voyage of circumnavigation of the globe totally muggle-style; she only used magic once to disguise as a man and once to save her lover. I will make sure that he finds it, and hope that he'll adept soon, and think he has picked it up from a woman. Hehe. These seventies here are actually fifties - wizards and witches could really need a nice spoon full of common sense from time to time...

Apart from being a product of his time ever so often, and a git when he's pushed to it, Severus Snape the Boy now really is my friend. Strange how These things go. Sometimes you need a cave troll. Sometimes you need hours of whispered midnight conversations. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to raid the next best muggle psychology bookstore and find out all about friendship. Should have done that years ago...

I sigh quietly to myself. Time to talk to another human againk, I haven't seen him for a full week. It's almost curfew when he finally storms into the library, smashes his books on the table, slams them open and starts to work aggressively. Not even the older students dare to look in his general direction. Usually he looks around once he is alone, waiting for me to show up, but today he's burying himself in work again. He has been doing that for days before his total disappearance, not saying a word to anyone. This is more than the thematic obsessions we both tend to have from time to time. This isn't good.

With a wave of wand, I conjure a soft, warm wind that ruffles his hair. I have decided that this is a way a bodiless being would greet someone they like, and usually he doesn't mind. Today, he throws an angry glare like a dagger over his shoulder, where he expects me to be. He's getting better at that. "What is it, Baby Snake?"

"Not today, Whisper, leave me alone," he snaps.

"Really?"

"Not really." He sighs. "Wait. Muffilato!"

"What's that?" Silence. He pulls it around himself like a coat, raising walls and walls between him and everyone else. You need one to know one, I guess. "Severus, what is it?" Minutes go by. He stares at his hands, examines the few drops of ink that his cramped handwriting had allowed to escape the quill.

When I'm about to give up, he finally says: "Been fighting with Lily. Again."

"What about?"

"Levicorpus."

Sometimes, talking to him is a pain. I have to drag out every word. "What is that?"

"A spell."

"So?"

"I designed it."

"Tell me..." He leaves the table, and for a moment I am sure he is about to leave, but he only gets comfortable in his favorite windowsill. When you pull a curtain in front of it, its a great reading nook. I've been sitting there myself several times.

"If you insist," he starts off sarcastically, but his tone changes soon. "It was for Averys Naming birthday. I still owed him for that time he defended me from Black, so I wanted to give him something. I didn't have... um, I wanted it to be special, so I designed a spell. I put it on his Exploding Snap cards as a joker that lifts the loser up at his ankles. We had several matches, it was a great laugh." He sounds proud now, the pride shimmers through whatever pushes him down so much recently. A fifth-year that designs spells has every reason to be proud. I get comfortable, too.

"Avery is smart, though, and found out how to use the spell as a hex. Nobody cared, it was his birthday, okay? But all the others started using it, and in the end that asshat Mcnair used it on a Gryffindor girl, Alice. She was hanging there and he made jokes about her... her underwear. And her belly. I agree with Lily, this was stupid, but it wasn't my fault."

Hm. Yeah well, that sucks. Idon'tt know how I feel about that. Finally I say: "When you create something you are always responsible," but I feel like a hypocrite. I created Whisper, after all.

"That's utter nonsense, my invisible friend," he sneers. "People don't even care for their own children, and they more than create them." He spats the words. Sounds as if I hit home base here. "Also what can I do now? It's out there, and Lily hasn't spoken to me all week. But the Slytherins speak to me now. Avery's little gang is all... I don't know, suddenly they act as if they care. Too little, too late, I told them, but they just act as if I've been with them all along."

I'm glad I have an answer now, at least for the initial problem, one that is as much as a challenge for him as it is a way to make up. "Counter-Curse for Levicorpus. Make it fair."

His face lights up, but my thoughts circle around something else. "... how?"

"How what, Whisper?"

"How did Avery find out the spell?"

"There is a hex that forces magical objects to give up their secrets. It's seen as dark magic, though, so of course almighty Dumbledore banned it. I guess he's afraid people would modify it and use it on each other. Um, maybe I shouldn't have said that. That we use spells like that. Don't... judge me, too, okay?"

Now I have to laugh, and that makes him grin a little, only a tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth. "What's funny?"

"Judging..." After all, I mimic a magical bodiless being to hide the fact that I crashed through time. "Things are just what people make them. Everything can be dangerous..."

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head.

"Imagine a sock-folding spell, while someone still wears them."

"Pretty dark, Whisper. I like that."

"Don't do it."

"Nah, don't worry. I don't want Lily to hate me even more. Also, I'm working on something better, for enemies."

"What..." But in that moment, Madam Pince shows up to throw out the last students for the day. She is the only one who already looks the way she does in my time. I wonder if she is even human. As always, the conversation keeps twirling in my head after I've returned to my couch-bed. The devil is in the details, it seems. A joke got out of a hand, a friendship got a crack, and the Slytherins suddenly find Severus interesting. There are rumors in my time about him more than flirting with the dark. Is this how it begins, I wonder as I fall asleep.

The first snow comes like a shock to me, despite keeping track of my calendars. Knowing something and seeing it are never quite the same. When I wake up somewhat midday in my quiet tent, the trees outside are powdered in white. I have been here for months now. It is the mid of December, almost Christmas, and I am still here, a ghost, a whisper. Suddenly, I cannot stand the piling letters on my nightstand any more. Maybe I'll never get back, and even if I get back, I won't give them to anyone. With a wave of wand and a whispered word, a bluebell flame turns them to ash. I don't feel better after that.

Absentmindedlyy, I draw lines on my forearm with my wand. The time sandfollowed them, forming new, beautiful patterns as aquarell colors do when you swirl the brush in clear water. I have done that way too often in the last weeks. The sand is so close under my skin now that I can see its golden glow. It almost doesn't hurt to make it move. I wonder if, in my time, I am back at McGonagall's office only minutes after I left, and if I am busy figuring out gifts for the boys now. Will be busy. Are going to will be busy... Whatever.

I draw a spiral with my wand. The time sand follows. Will Severus go home for Christmas? He has been searching for a gift for Lily forever. Last time I saw him trying to invent a spell that would turn a glass into a beautiful crystal vase, a very delicate piece of magic. I know he's trying to make up for Levicorpus, to create something that cannot be corrupted by anyone. Crystal... My thoughts start to drift.

Suddenly, there is a jolt. It feels af if the world has moved just a small step to the left. Immediately, the anxiety awakes in my stomach and forces all my senses to focus on the environment. Where is the thread? But instead of something dangerous, I see something beautiful: There are lights around me, lights like the aurora borealis, shining in different colors, slowly moving in invisible air streams. They are in front of the windows, around the piles and piles of books, around me. I get up. Carefully, as if my steps could disturb them if I do anything other than tip towing, I go to them. I am incredibly drawn to the lights; they are the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen, and not dangerous at all. Slowly I raise my hand to them, and I see something shine under my skin.

While playing with my wand, I have apparently drawn one of the wards from the old, half burned book, and the time sand is glowing back to the colors. It is the ward for Seeing, and I understand in that moment that what I see is _magic_. The magic that is around me, that is everywhere at Hogwarts.

I turn around and see myself in the splintered mirror, magic shining in my chest like the bluebell flames, filling my whole body with elegantly spiraling sparks, fill my fingertips, fill my eyes, calling and answering to the magic all around. Seeing. Credendo vides, as the muggles say, you believe as you see.

I wonder if... With a wipe of my wand, I make the ward disappear, and the sand finds its own patterns again. The magical flows fade. I draw the ward again, and as soon as I do so, it reappears. As quick as I can, I nick one of the empty journals from my pile of useful things and start to scribble. When you document it, it's science, not nonsense. My new special ability wears off after a minute. Only when I draw the ward on my arm with ink and put a sticking charm on it, the time sand stays there for some hours, when I speak a sealing charm to bind all the time sand in the tiny symbol (that makes my skin itch terribly, as if one of these little pieces of fabric with the washing instructions is still in your shirt) it stays for a whole day. Every magic comes with limitations. I take my time to learn by heart all of the wards that are in the remains of the book. And after several intense debates with myself, I chose the ward that I find the most useful. Camouflage. With the ward activated, I am completely and utterly invisible, not even a shimmer or a contour gives away my Desillusioned self. It feels good.

With the ward on, I am able to re-claim the grounds of Hogwarts for me. I hover to the lake-side, Hagrid's little house and whatever creature he is cooing over there in the moment, I see the Whomping Willow in the distance, the gardens in the snow... It feels good to be outside again, but it it also pretty overwhelming. The light is brighter, the wind colder, the snow has an own smell, and the air is so crispy I can feel it prickle on my invisible skin... So, when I'm finally in the safety in the library again, I am not actively searching Severus' attention. And of course, today is the day he is actively calling out for me for the first time. "Whisper?"

I feel the blood rush back to my cheeks, after it just had settled into my numb, cold fingers again. "Whisper? You here?" No one else is here. I am tired and my limbs are heavy. Why didn't I go back to my room immediately?

_You dont have to answer, H, you are an ancient mysterious being, not a lap dog._

"Whisper. I may need... advise with something. Please?"

Oh fuck fuck fuck, fuckety-fuck. Okay. I conjure the usual wind and touch his cheek with it. He leans into the warm feeling and smiles, and I feel immediately like an asshole, for even considering to stay silent. When you create something, you are always responsible.

"Hey. There you are. Em, well, look." He points with his wand at the vase I saw him turn the glass into. It enlarges, and transforms into an elegantly shaped bowl. He opens his hand, and something touches the water surface. A flower. A lily flower. I feel a sting in my chest. Of course. The lily is floating in the middle. Then, he begins to draw a complicated pattern over the flower, eyebrows almost touching from concentrating so hard. The flower starts to transform, until it is the shape of a beautiful, wing-tailed goldfish, and then turns back.

I am astonished. The cold, the ward, my heavy limbs are forgotten. This is one really impressive piece of magic. And entirely _good._ Glass, water, flowers, non-predatory animals are all considered as symbols for the side of the Light. Muggles have them rooted deeply in their most hopeful rituals. Pigeons and flowers, breaking glass under a shoe for good luck, baptizing children...

The charm he is inventing for her has layers and layers underneath, it is all he doesn't know how to say. "It's rubbish, right? It just won't stay a damn fish."

I decide to not lecture about self hate, perfectionism, and the dangers of putting all your hope into the ability and willingness of others to find hidden meanings. A real-life friend could have done that, but I see no way to say it without cruelty. And this shouldn't be damaged by cruelty, or twisted by doubt. I have no right to do that. "Show me the spellwork."

A precious piece of parchment, filled with the tiniest writing, sentences crossed out and words added elsewhere, is enfolded on the table. I starte at it untill my eyes hurt. "I know there is a mistake, Whisper, but where..."

I have to admit I have no clue on how to invent spells, and I really don't know enough to find a mistake. But when in doubt, go back to the basics. "You know about... the very first spell?"

"Course, Whisper," he says carelessly, while he stares at his work. "Abracadabra. I create as I speak. Used by the Ancients to conjure anything they wanted."

"Until..."

"Until Gamp's law came in the way, and they started to specify each spell as much as possible, to work out it's parameters by approximation. Merlin's grey underpants, of course!" His eyes glitter. "I need another specification here... no, here... so the transformation stays, and rearrange the factors in the calculation of the syllable values to confide with..." His words turn to mumbling. He isn't used to vocalize his ideas (why should be with no one listening), but he is getting there on his own nevertheless.

"Whisper, you're bloody brilliant!"

"I know..." But he doesn't hear it, since he is digging nose first into the pile of books next to him. That's the best thing about smart people: To help them, you don't need answers, just the right questions. And a little background knowledge from the History of Magic. Boring useless subject, eh, Harry? Since it is only a few days till Christmas we are pulling an all-nighter now. And another one. And ditch some courses. I would never encourage that with Ron and Harry, but here - well. I'm not that kind of rule lover any more.

When its finally time for their usual Thursday homework date, I am just as excited and anxious as Severus is. He is playing it cool, though, does the work, and only hands her the small box when she is about to leave, with a "Merry Christmas Lils, donthavetoopenitnow" (one word). She does of course open it now, and looks confused as she finds the neatly written instructions on a fresh sheet of parchment, and a marble. She reads carefully, biting her lip, and then she taps the marble three times with her wand. It enlarges to the bowl with the fresh blossom in it, and with a move he has perfected just a few hours ago, and with the perfection of overfatigue and thrill, Severus draws the pattern. Lily stares. Severus holds his breath. So do I.

The blossom sinks down and turns to the fish, who does a happy little turn in the glass. It is perfect. "It is... beautiful, Sev. I - wow. Thank you." Carefully tiptoeing, so she doesn't spill any water from the bowl in her hand, she kisses him on the cheek, and pure happiness flashes over his face like a shooting star in the night sky.

"A real fish... he's... alive?" Her cheeks glow.

"Yeah... when you're away you can change him back to a flower, so you don't need to worry about caring for him... when you return he'll be there when you tap the glass." He stares at his dirty shoes. Layer under layer under layer.

Lily steps back from him and beams. "This is brilliant. I will head home tomorrow morning, and Tuney would be dead scared of a magical fish, but like this it is perfect! About Christmas now, erm, I..." Severus holds his breath again, and so do I. We both were working so hard on that - and there is so much more to it. I am convinced now that the reason Dumbledore trusts Severus in the future is his allegiance to Lily, their lifelong friendship and mutual trust, which will be his anchor to the side of the Light. It has to be. The way his voice turns soft when he speaks about her, and all he has put into this charm... Sure, they are having troubles right now, difficulties, but it can change right here. The ancient Greek with their dramas and poetry, the ones who structured and defined storytelling once and for all, called this moment Peripeteia. The one point at the very top of the mountain of events that will change it all, the point from which on it will inevitably fall to one side or the other. Happiness, or despair. The last moment where everything is open, hanging just in the balance, as long as the sentence isn't finished.

Just invite him for Christmas, Lily, I plea with all my heart. Even when he isn't coming, even when it's too short a time now, just show him that you would want him there, just tell him you'd like to invite him. As friends. As someone who cares. Just that. Just care. He cut out his damn heart with that piece of magic and put it before your pretty feet. Please, Lily.

"... but I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow before I go off, okay? And again, thank you." She smiles brightly, waves, clutches the fish bowl to her chest and leaves.

"You're welcome, Lily." He says her name like a prayer, and when she turns around and leaves the library, the comet of happiness in his eyes has passed by and dies in the blackness of space. My usual approach, to imagine that in one version of reality she did understand, and all is well, doesn't help. There is a cold lump in my stomach, and I just want to go home.

Peripeteia.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ _ _  
> Hi folks, thank you for your kind comments so far! Remember, questions, critique and whatever else you want to say is highly appreciated!


	8. that one man's evil is another's god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, thanks for keeping up with my slow pace!  
> Oh, also: With amazing fireworks existing in the HP universe, I see no reason why Hogwarts shouldn't celebrate New Year.

New Year's Eve has come soon. The castle is almost empty, and the few students that are parked here use their time to not gain the teacher's attention and do as they like. I haven't seen Severus in a few days' time, and when I finally find him in the Forbidden Section, I am shocked how pale he is. He has built a fortress of solitude, erm, books around him, but someone slythered in: The tiniest house elf I have ever seen sits on the table and gently pushes a plate with pancakes and fruit against his elbow. Deep in thought, Severus grabs a pancake from time to time and eats it without realizing. As soon as the elf sees me, it (she? he?) pats Severus' shoulder gently and disappears, just to appear right next to me on a bookshelf within the blink of an eye.

"Master Nose doesn't eat when he's sad," the elf whimpers sadly.

"Thank you for taking care of him, um ... Sorry, what's your name? If it's all right to ask?" I have never really talked to a house elf before, and would give my right hand for a protocol.

"It is very nice to ask. I is Filly from the Slytherin Elves," proudly she points at her clean towel with the crest "and Miss is Miss Guardian. Now we introduced properly. Will Miss help Master Nose today?"

"Yes, I... I thought about... well..." The elf beams at me so brightly that I start to feel uncomfortable. How do I deserve such a smile?

"Master Nose is much better since Miss is here. Less sulking. Writes letters to smart people who write him smart things back. Miss did that."

I smile back, but a little sad now. "There is only so much I can do. But I will bent the rules a little tonight."

"Thank you, Miss. And Miss? Miss is not invisible to all." Sudden tears jump to my eyes, and I swallow hard.

"Thank you, Filly." She disappears, and I need a while to compose myself, and then I think about a plan and watch Master Nose. When it's about eleven, I can't stand it any longer. "Hullo, baby snake... how about an adventure?"

"What, in here?" His voice is cold, distant, and aloof. His eyes look bigger than usual.

"Nah. Astronomy Tower."

"It is locked."

"Not for me. Not tonight. Meet me at the top... in 15 minutes." That sounds way cooler than it is, actually. It is easy to hover to the secret passage to the storage cellar under the tower, a little challenge to pass it without waking up the telescopes (they are rather bitchy that they aren't allowed outside tonight), and no challenge at all to alohomora my way upwards from the inside, and to leave the doors open. They are protected against people getting in, after all, not people getting out, and the castle itself seems up to a little mischief. It is, on the other hand, an incredible huge challenge to wait in the night, on top of the damn tower, for him to decide weather he wants to come or not. I am about to decide that I am going to enjoy the view no matter what, but my traitor heart feels so much lighter once it hears him come. Stupid thing.

"Tower... great... so... what now?" He is, of course, out of breath. Must be hard to actually walk up all these steps. Hehe.

"Now we wait." My whisper voice is almost ripped away by the cold wind, but that only makes the effect better. Only when he starts to eye the ground more carefully than he should, I start to question weather or not this was a good idea.

"L'appel du vide," I warn.

"I know," Snape snaps. "Don't worry. Don't want you to see something like that. Only in some nights it is stronger. Some nights it's just... sad," he admits.

Thank everyone who listened that I have an answer for that: "The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting."

"Sounds stupid. Who said that?"

"Merlin," I answer happily, literally shoving everyone's favorite Slytherin into his face. Now that takes the wind out of his sails for a moment. Ha. Camelot is always trump in the end.

"And what should there be to learn? More of the same?" He sighs, and leans on the balustrade, trying to pierce the night.

Sometimes I am astonished that people can ask something like this in a magic school. "Oh, just wait for it." And as the old year runs out, minute by minute, like sand grains run through an hourglass, the invisible girl and the dark boy wait on the tower in the night. When finally the first sparks of firework rise in the distance, I feel released. Soon enough, Professor Flitwick and McGonagall raise their own wands to fill the sky with light and sparkles, and the smile that slowly reappears on Severus' face encourages me to go through with the whole plan. "Do you trust me, Baby Snake?"

"Yes." I smile my invisible smile at him, and once again I am sure he catches it nevertheless. Carefully I touch the white back of his slim hand with the tip of my invisible wand, and quickly I draw the ward for seeing. A few seconds later, I hear him gasp, and I know now that he sees what I see.

Even without time sand, and for the few moment it works on him, the effect is what I have hoped for. Mesmerized, he stares into the sky, looks over the castle, the lake, the forest, the magical fireworks, and while he turns around and round to take in the whole world at once, he even gets a glance of me. Even after the ward has faded from his skin completely, I can still see the colors of magic reflect in his eyes.

"Happy New Year, Severus."

"Happy New Year, Whisper. I wish I... anyway. Thank you. For everything." And there it is again, the sting in my chest - the little ache of my heart, as I regret the fact that I can't just take his hand.

Oh.

Oh no. Oh. No.

_See - this is what you get from interfering._

No no no no no no. Not true. It is just the moment and sentimentality. And nothing more.

_You sure?_

Yes. I have to be. This would be wrong on so many levels. He is Professor Snape, dear Merlin!

_Actually, right now, he is just a boy. And you are just a whisper._

No. Just no. Impossible. Absolute impossible. Friendship yes. Alliance, yes. Trust, even. Yes. But no other feelings.

_Well, if you are so sure, take the test._

I don't have to prove stuff to myself.

 _Coward_.

No!

_Then do it._

I... I...

I have to get back..." My whisper voice never betrays me. No wailing or shrieking ot yelling.

"I see. Yes, I better get back to the dorm, too, right? Good night, Whisper..."

"Good night..."

 _Coward, coward, coward, H._ _You can't even think about something like feelings for someone else, right? Where is the bravery now?_

Despite my own little lion voice that roars in my mind and tries to force me into action, it is almost morning until I finally face the test. Painfully exposed in my visibility, I am in the corner where I left the Mirror of Erised. With a swishhh, the blanket falls. Didn't Harry say that there were words in mirror text written on it? The frame is empty. Well, maybe Dumbledore added them later when he used the mirror as hiding place.

_Stop procrastinating, H, and look into it._

And I do look, I brace myself against the picture of me and Severus hand in hand (or worse), or me and Harry and Ron, or me finally holding that never-ending-story-book, whatever it will be. But I am really not expecting what I see now.

There is nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing.

What does that mean? Is my deepest wish to be truly invisible? Or to disappear from existence? No. Neither. Really, no. Maybe it is broken? Carefully, I reach out to touch the glass. When I can almost feel the smooth surface under my fingertips, I hesitate. That is not a smart move. I should really just go. And once in a lifetime I just do what I really should do. I put the blanket back on and leave it for good. It's like throwing a coin when you have to make a decision. While the coin is in the air, you know what you wish for. And I know what I wished for. I wished for what can never be. I wished for Severus Snape to stand beside my visible self and hold my hand. As easy as that. As impossible as that.

 

After school has started again, the days blur into each other. Without a clear schedule I lose track of time more than once, I get lost in the spaces between hours, meals, days and nights. After the incident with the spider, I don't go outside for three whole weeks, and spent my time with building wind chimes out of small stuff I found in the room instead, thinking of my grandma making them for me when I was small and was afraid of the dark. _They distract nightmares, baby girl._ I hang them all over my tent, and watch them move gently. This is how Professor Dumbledore finds me once he has finally returned to the castle.

"Miss Granger?" His voice is loud and sharp in the empty room, and it is weird to hear my own name again. Surreal.

"Sir?" I say right behind him. "Miss Granger, I was told that one certain Mister Lockheart prances the grounds of my school and tells everyone that he won the fight against a young Acrumantula that attacked him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

"How good for him, sir."

"Excuse me? Speak up, Miss Granger, if you please." There is no twinkle in his eyes as he tries to pierce the nothing behind him.

"I said good for him, sir. He is like that in my time, sir, always taking the credit for every victory near him, but I can hardly imagine there was so much as a fight. Acrumantula go the way of least resistance." I add all the power of my invisible stare, the stare trained with Severus, that people feel in their neck sometimes. And Dumbledore feels it too, I guess. He backs off with his anger. Or maybe it is just the fact that a time-traveler is sitting in a tent among wind chimes made out of magical objects and glares at him.

"Is he like that, in your time? Interesting." I let the cover drop and turn visible, see my pale and slim face and the self-assured crooked half smile I shamelessly copy from Severus reflected in the now again twinkling eyes. "Yes, sir, indeed he is."

"So, Hagrid has no reason to be mad at him for the cut in the Acrumantula's leg? Not that young Gilderoy has a talent for cutting spells, if I remember correctly."

"How could I know, sir? I am not to be seen outside."

"That is very right, Miss Granger. Even though, in times of war, an invisible guardian to the castle would be of great value, wouldn't it be?"

"It may appear so, sir." We both circle this new idea like cats may a hot pie they found in a window still.

"And such a warden would be allowed to go anywhere as he or she pleases, with the Headmasters blessing, and therefore with the castle itself on their side."

"If a guardian like that could enable a small time window for said Headmaster to investigate on the case of forward time travel with the help of a certain glass on his desk, a nightly patrol would be possible."

"Would be?"

"Will be, sir. Hogwarts and what it stands for will be protected with whatever is possible." My throat hurts from the now unfamiliar effort to speak up, and I am sick of the would-be game. Suddenly, King Arthur pops into my head again. Why not? As a former Gryffindor, I am sure that Dumbledore understands (if not appreciates) gestures just as much, and without further hesitation I give him my dagger, handle first. He takes it, and seals it with a "So be it."

"So be it," I repeat, and as I touch the blade, it glows in a warm and friendly gold. I can't help but smile at Dumbledore. Here we are, a king and his lionheart, accidentally sworn in over a small drop of spider blood that may still be on the blade - different from non magical spiders they do, in fact, bleed.

_Accidental? You sure?_

No. I am not sure about anything anymore.

_At least you put in the what-it-stands-for-clause. What it stands for, for you. And what's that, exactly. What did you mean?_

No idea honestly. I hope to find out again.

_Good. Lose threads. Possibilities._

And untill there are possibilities, there is freedom. From now on, I feel not only able to move freely, I also got my sense of purpose back. I sleep during the day and patrol in the darkness. The soft glow of the blade, always visible through the Seeing Ward and always answered to by a greeting glow right in the walls of the castle itself, leads me through night after night. I learn the schedules of teachers, prefects, ghosts, cats and house elves. Especially theirs, I think they are what glues it all together in the end. I see the great pride they take in their work, how they boast over their children in their houses, and I am glad that at least, they are happy. Even though happiness should not be matter of the sheer luck to be born or bound to the right place.

_If you go down that road, H, you can just as well just take over the government and break the whole damn society._

Why does it sound like a bad idea when you say it?

_Because you are still invisible and stuck in the past._

Oh, that. Yeah, right.

As the nights pass and it smells like spring, and then the first hints of summer linger in the air, I get to see the castle like never before. Now sworn directly to it, and with the swirling and everflowing magic to guide me, it has no boundaries apart from the Chamber of Secrets, which I do not wish to visit. Being petrified for once was more than enough. Now, no one would save me. Whatever happens now, I can only save myself.

But the castle does not endanger me, it welcomes me, and soon I sit on rooftops as comfortable as in armchairs, hover through secret passages and have all the doors open and all the rooms recognize me. Sometimes, around three in the morning, when the world is quiet enough to deny it's very existence, and I let my fingertips glide along the cold stones to reassure myself of their texture, I am almost sure to hear it sing. I try to describe it to Severus, and he even touches the wall in his reading nook, but he doesn't get it. "Anyway, a singing cage would not be less of a cage, eh?"

"What will you do... once you leave?" As if I don't know.

He looks sadly in my general direction. "I don't think you ever really leave, right?"

No, I can't let that stand. No hope, for no one, ever? "Once upon a time... in a different time.. my father told me that his real life didn't start before he was mid-thirty."

"You had a dad? Well, on the other side everyone has, right? And what happens in his thirties?"

"He said he arrived. At the job, new friends, mum, me. He said school was not that important, in the end... he said you keep growing, everyone, and things will fall into place eventually..." He told me again and again and again, when he found me on the front porch, school bag at my feet, still sobbing after the day's bullying.

"Sounds like a smart man, that dad of yours. Did you knew your mom? How were they?" He leans is head on his knees, arms around the legs. Outside of the library, I have seen the well-known expression of an Occlumency shield from time to time now. Not quite the wall I have got, but on the other hand I have way more to hide.

"How were they... understanding. Loving. Smart. Flawed. Funny. Good people. Good team. Did their best, but my world scared them."

"You miss them, eh?"

"Terribly."

"I understand. My folks, well..." He looks down an bites his lips, shifting uncomfortably.

"You never talk about them. That says enough."

"And again you get it, Whisper. Why do you always get it?"

"You see a lot when you are unseen, Severus." But I don't feel that unseen any more, to be honest. After the castle has accepted me, and with my regular tasks, I got better. A lot better. Finally, I am really in charge of something again, and it fuels me. Even the students seem to feel my stare in the neck now, when I catch them at something I don't approve. They shudder, and leave, and Mrs. Norris grins her cat-grin at me, and the Grey Lady once saw a glimpse of my dagger and smiled approvingly. And the house elves. They act as if they don't notice me, because I am to be invisible, but they keep placing treacle tarts and other sweets in places I pass on my rounds. I started leaving little thank-you-notes, and got a lot of happily drawn smiley faces back.

And suddenly summer is there, and I witness how the teachers enchant the Great Hall with AntiCheats and Whisper-Nots and Spell-Me-Rights for the dyslexic, who are allowed to write with blue Correcting Quills that respond to said spells. At least here, the wizard world is more forward-thinking than their non-magic counterparts. I wonder if technology can solve that in the future. Whatever future.

Anyway, it is O.W.L.-time, and stress and pressure take over the student body. More than once I alert Madam Pomfrey through the help of Mrs. Norris when I find a student near or in the middle of a breakdown. That cat is scarily smart.

As it is my habit now I sleep through the day, and start my first round when it's almost dawning. I see James and Peter hang out at the well of the upper courtyard. The full moon is almost rising, glancing through heavy rain clouds after a hot day, and the boys seem to wait for someone (Sirius, I guess) as they eye it suspiciously. I wonder if they have achieved their animagus forms already. There are still about 30 minutes left untill curfew, so I allow myself to hang out on the wall under the big rose bushes, enjoy the smell and the company of these teenagers, who are, through all flaws and troubles, incredibly true to each other; and really talented. And who am I to judge. If you consider that even Professor McGonagall didn't try for animagus unless she was almost 30... I jump a little as I hear thunder in the distance. Sirius arrives when the first flash of lightning parts the air.

"Too late, Mister Padfoot." James rises an eyebrow. Sirius, overly pretty and fully aware of that, long hair blowing in the upcoming wind, poses a moment with the storm in the background.

"When shall we three meet again?" he declaims, before hugging James. I hardly see him without at least one arm around someone. Doesn't get many hugs at home, I guess. James smiles fondly at him, and then clears his throat.

"Right now, Gentlemen, right now... I have called this meeting tonight so we can decide what to do with Snivellus. Today he overplayed his damn hand," James starts. His voice is hard.

"Lily still crying?" Sirius asks. What? What has happened? Really, I leave them alone for AN HOUR ...

"Yeah. Peter went to the kitchen to get her hot cocoa, marshmallows and all, but Alice just grabbed it and shut the door in his face." Pettigrew nods.

"She doesn't blame us for what that greasy git said to her, does she?" Sirius looks baffled. What the hell?

"I don't know. Maybe she does, maybe we even are, but he is responsible for what he said. I can't stand to see her suffer like that, Pads. We have to make him pay."

"Don't you worry, mate, I got you." Sirius grins now and leans back. "I think I got him back pretty good."

"What did you do? Tell me!" James is all eager now, and I lean in, too. Looks like I have to pick Severus out of some dark corner again.

"Well, I met him like 10 minutes ago. He completely snapped when he saw me, okay? Hexed me into the wall. No, don't worry, I let him win so he'd listen. First of all I told him that I think you overdid it by the lake today." He snickers, and Peter giggles. "Of course he threatened to do one of his sucking black spells on me. I acted as if I was afraid of him," James laughs at that "and told him that I would tell him something he wanted to know all along if he'd let me go. Of course he believed it, stupid prick. And now guess who is just making his way down the Whomping Willow channel? He'll crap his ugly grey pants I swear! That's what you get for calling Lily a mudblood, and that's only the beginning, Merlin, Prongs..."

He called Lily a _what now_? No, this can't be. Then, it hits me like a bucket of ice water. The Whomping Willow Chanel. He set Severus off to see Remus. A fully-grown werewolf.

James gets there almost as fast as me. "You gave away Remus? As a prank? Are you mental..? We have to..."

But I don't hear what he thinks they have to. Fear is rushing in my ears like waves. He is off to discover Remus. Alone. Soon. No. _No!_

All I am, all my thoughts, my whole person crushes down to the one word: No.

It hasn't been that long that I faced a werewolf myself, but I knew what would come, and I had my friends to throw themselves in front of me, and Severus, Professor Snape back then, who I had attacked only hours earlier, and who threw himself into the line of fire without hesitating for a moment, for Harry Potter, his tormentors' son, and now, and _soon_ \- !

And he would be in the Shrieking Shack any minute now, alone, facing a werewolf on his own, as always, all on his own.

Oh hell no.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the Kudos, the bookmarks, and the lovely comments! From now on we will process faster. 
> 
> The quote is from T.H. White, The Once and Future King.


	9. or that the solar spectrum is

 

I give up all the care, I give up all doubts, everything. My thinking and my body and the burning magic inside of me unite as I throw myself right down the wall on my board, and falling turns into flying, and I fly. The storm is there and heavy rain rushes down, and I have to use all of my remaining body weight to hold the board straight against the wind. I don't bother with the Whomping Willow and the tunnel underneath. I know where it leads and I know that I lose any advantage underground, with no room to move, no space to be. There is only one chance to save Severus: I must be there first.

I'm higher above the ground than I have ever dared to be before, on all fours, hands clenched onto the board, and I am fast, so fast that the wind presses the air out of my lungs and that my skin is burning, I am wet to the bone in mere seconds, and the sharp rain rips my lips open and the veins in my eyes burst and draw a red map in the white parts, the map of my flight over the grounds of the castle I used to call home. This death trap of a castle.

The forest is under me and I fly, ducked as low as possible in the airflow, as I yell all the speeding spells I know. This is how it must feel to ride a muggle motorbike without any protective gear. All I hear is my own heart inside of my ears, beating hard and loud and fast like the drums of the songs I learned to love in my silent prison. I am over the forest, and it is cold, so cold. And then there is the village, and the _shack_ , and I am getting faster, faster, faster. T. H. White in my head again, of all things: "How can you have boundaries if you fly?" And for a single endless moment everything is possible, everything is just as it has to be, and the race is all that matters.

And then the scream. A terrified scream mixed with a haul, punching me back to reality. Almost there and it could already be too late. No. Hell no.

"Bombarda!" The wind rips the word from my lips and my wand movement is anything but specific and exact, but the magic works. The magic _knows_.

The door of the Shrieking Shack blows away and I come in with the storm like a force of nature, an invisible force armed with the rage of the elements, as the lightning crashes a near tree. In with a lightning, out with a blast indeed. The werewolf turns away from the young man that is trapped in a corner of the room, it sniffs in the air and looks directly at me. Magical creatures cannot be fooled by spells. No Disillusionment can hide me from him.

But I don't care. He doesn't know me yet. Even after months in this timeline, Hermione Granger does not exist for anyone but Dumbledore, and he isn't here. But Severus' protective spirit, the whisper in the library, is here. And it has come to save him. And it is absolutely mad. I really, really want to blow something up.

_Get it together, H, that would help no one. You like Lupin, this is not his fault. Save both._

How?

_Focus. Look around. Use what you have ._

The werewolf I knew as professor Lupin raises his claws into my direction, but all I see is Severus, already bleeding, white as a sheet, his head slowly falling back. No. No!

Suddenly, adrenaline explodes in my body and I can see perfectly clear. No bite marks, blood on the wall. He hit his head.

Again, just as in the night in the future, snippets of my werewolf essay shine bright in the chaos of my mind, and I find my focus in facts about behavior, hunting style, movement patterns. Once again homework saves me, and I know what to do: Distract him. Keep him away. Only for a little while. That's all it takes. Lupin is going wild from wolf madness, but he wants to _hunt_ , and right now I am the more interesting prey. And the Marauders are coming, they _must_ be coming.

My inner monologue has only taken a few seconds, but in these seconds Lupin's full attention fell to me. It's now or never and never isn't an option. And with another sudden rush of adrenaline I go back into action. I fly over Lupin's head, and I yell loud and shrill as I can, making myself the bait he desires. And it works, like an angry dog he follows me outside.

_Great, it worked. Now what?!_

The next twenty minutes are hell. I am in the storm with an angry werewolf, flying in circles, yelling until my untrained voice breaks and I taste blood in my mouth, leading him in close circles around the shack, can't let him run free and hurt someone else, oh Merlin, was Severus bitten? I fly and fly, and throw curses all around him to keep him in line, a shepherd dog with worlds most dangerous sheep, until finally, finally, a stag and a giant dog appear. The dog crushes right into the wolf, fighting him, until the wolf seems to recognize him and changes his behavior, and they disappear into the forest, _playing_ , and the stag turns into a terrified boy with wild black hair. As suddenly as it started, it is over.

I do not follow James and Severus back through the tunnel. Instead, once the dog and the wolf are definitely gone, I fall onto the cold hard ground, and cry and sob until I don't know any longer if I shake from the cold or the pain in my whole body, or the fear that finally rushes over me like the hard rain, wave after wave after wave. I turn to lay on my back in the mud, breathing, panting, gripping to the stones and grass, understanding that I am alive, that I made it, that I really made it. I need hours until I am back in the castle; and it is almost morning when I'm stable enough to go to the hospital wing.

As I pass by, I see James in front of the hospital door, exhausted, pale and asleep. Sirius, human again, tear-stained, is sleeping with the head on his shoulder. Peter is there too, curled together on the chairs opposite to them. In any other situation, I would have done my best to burn this picture into my head so that I can maybe show it to Harry later somehow, but right now, I only feel anger. Cold anger, as cold as my whole body still feels. Maybe I'll never be warm again in my entire life. Still, I know that I did it, now that I can finally think again. That I saved him, and that he definitely wasn't bitten. He is no werewolf in my own time. I would have noticed.

The door is locked, so I change my path and come in through the window. Height has lost all horror. Even if I fall, my magic will save me, even if I fall, I will save myself.

There is only one person in here. Lupin is somewhere else, probably with Dumbledore, who hopefully cares for him. If he'd only care for Severus, too. But at least he has me. I carefully close the window, leave the board, and step to the bed.

"Who's there? I'm really too tired for this shit", he says, wand out, black eyes piercing the room. Always the fighter, even now, even after what he's just been through, always. And Gryffindor is the house of the brave?

Suddenly I am strangely proud. This my friend over there, who holds it together after a night full of horror, who is composed in the face of a nightmare. Unasked, my brain delivers the second pathetic quote of the day: My head is bloody, but unbowed. A whole poem about keeping up against the darkest faith, called Invictus. It got stuck while I was in the Room first.

"Hello, Baby Snake... just me."

"Whisper? You are here?" He turns around. Of course he cannot see me, and he turns his back on me again. And this time it really breaks my heart. I want to be there for him. I want to be with him. But I can't. I am centimeters away and it could be continents.

The adrenaline starts pumping in my veins again. To hell with the rules. To hell with all of it. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Whisper. They didn't get me, even tough they tried pretty hard this time."

"What..."

"Not important." He brushes it off with a movement of his hands. "And even if it was, our dear leader made me swear an oath to not speak about it ever, so his precious pets can keep going."

That is so much worse than I thought. "I am so sorry..." "It's not your fault at all. It is Black who doesn't give a shit about my life, it is Potter who encourages him, and it is Dumbledore who backs them up. But you? Not your circus. Not your monkeys. You are the only one who never lied to me."

And the adrenaline leaves me within a heartbeat. The butterflies in my stomach die all at once. If I would reveal myself as a real person, a real girl, right now, he would not understand. He would feel betrayed, lied to, stabbed in the back. Maybe later. Maybe one day, I can explain it all, and he will not hate me then. But he would hate me now, and I know that I could not stand it, so there is only one thing I can do: Play my damn role. You are always responsible for what you create.

"I have sworn to protect..."

"And they still hold you to that, even in the state you are in now? That is cruel, but well, I wouldn't expect less. How are you even here? Aren't you breaking the rules?" His voice is almost Professor Snape now. Cold, dark, hateful Professor Snape, his back turned to me, his face hidden in a curtain of hair. I cannot stand it. This is all so wrong. A brilliant mind, his witty and searching soul, being shattered to pieces in front of me, while be holds himself up with bitter pride. I did take an oath to protect what Hogwarts means to me, and right now I understand what that is: A safe space. Shelter. Room to grow. Room to heal. Room to find out who you want to be. What it is for Harry, it should be for everyone - sanctuary.

There is not much I can do now. But there is something, and maybe, it is enough. Peripeteia.

"I am... breaking the rules. And I will break more now." Then again, I feel insecure. "Please... don't be scared..."

"I could never be scared of you, Whisper. Never. I trust you. You're the last thing here I can trust." This is it, the final push I need. My body is cold, cold from the hours outside, cold from the Delusion, cold from fear. But maybe this is good. It won't give away too much.

As lightly and carefully as I can, I touch his shoulder. His skin is warm under the robes, and I feel his body tensing under the touch. Ever since his not-goodbye to Lily at Christmas, no one has hugged him, has just touched him in any way, unless it was to hurt him. He is just as isolated as I am. But humans are not made to walk alone forever. Humans are made to be held. And this is what I do.

I hold him, wrap my invisible arms around his chest, careful and light, lean against his back, rest my head on his head. And I feel him relax, sigh, lean onto me just as I lean onto him. We stay like this for a very, very long time, and maybe we would still be there, in an infinite night in the hospital wing, in a never ending embrace, if it wouldn't have been for Lucius Malfoy.

He storms the Hospital Wing as if he had just claimed the whole castle and declared himself king. Annoyingly, it kind of works on me. With his long, confident steps, swinging coat and shining hair, he is all justified rage, all revenge, the black knight coming to his protégés' rescue. And I lose Severus in this moment, he pulls away from the hug, from me, from Hogwarts. Now it is Malfoy's elegant white hands that grab Severus' shoulder, that grab his chin and force him to raise his head, to meet his friends eyes. "What happened?" He hisses it, not sure who to blame.

"I am not allowed to talk about it," Severus sneers, with so much disdain in his voice that it sounds like a whip.

"But it was them?"

"Yes."

"And it almost got you killed?"

"Yes."

"Merlin, this stopps right now. You can get out, if you want to, Snape. Enough with this _nonsense_ of blood traitors and other _misfits_. Stay at my place and write your finals at the Ministry. They like me there, I can arrange that." He smiles with thin lips.

I am surprised to see him actually - care? Severus pulls away. His pride would never allow that. "I won't run." Malfoy sighs and moves away a little to lean on the wall. I remember Sirius trying to look casually cool and elegant with the same gesture. Unnervingly, Malfoy gets it just right.

"Yes, I know that, Snape. It's a shame, you know? Someone as smart as you should not be treated that way... Ah, no need to glare at me like that. I understand that you have set your will to pull through with it to the very end, and who am I to stand between a Slytherin and his aim? I knew you really were one of us, ever since you stumbled off from under the hat. But once this" he waves his hand and wrinkles his nose, and it is clear that he means nothing less than all of Hogwarts with that gesture "is over, your life will change, my friend. For the better. There is a place for you. We are awaiting you. Most eagerly."

He touches his shoulder again, this time like a mentor. A politician's hand, the gesture is called. It says: you are wrong, but it will be all right, I'll make it so. "Hold on, then. And in the future, call if you need one of us, for Salazar's sake. If they ridicule you, they ridicule us. This. Can. Not. Be." Ah, so that's what he cares about. What light it throws on him when future order members swipe the floor with future followers of the villainous V.

"How did you even hear of this in the first place?" Exactly what I've been thinking. Thanks, Sev. Also, I'm quite impressed that Severus is sitting there so calmly and completely unimpressed, at least outwards. I have to admit that I'm hiding my invisible self behind a curtain.

Malfoy smiles another confident, thin-lipped smile. "I am Lucius Malfoy, after all." And with that, and a last nod, he leaves. That man knows his timing. No awkward silences, every sentence pointy and directly on the spot, and than a twirl of coat and he wooshes away. So that's where Professor Snape has got it from. Another riddle solved.

Malfoy is so jung, only a mid-twenty, and already full of power. And he knows about his power. There is a cold perfectionism on him, something that makes his ridiculous attire (he has a belt with a sneak head on it, for Merlin's sake!) absolutely scary. And for the first time ever, I feel sorry for Draco Malfoy. This is not the kind of dad you want to come home to after a failure. Any failure.

As the door closes Severus leans back on his bed with a deep sigh. "Wow. He's so... they are all so... no one would dare to hex their back, you know? No one would dare to trick them." No one expect 12-year-old Harry Potter, who tricked this exact man into setting free Dobby. I feel a smile in the corner of my invisible mouth. Yes, Malfoy is strong. Yes, Malfoy is intimidating. But he and his kind are not the solution. Never. And this is what I say.

"You don't get it, Whisper. You don't know what it's like. I wish just... I just want to be left alone. I want to get out of here and never look back, and when I walk down a street I want everyone to get out of my way. And not throw anything at me. I just don't want to live with one eye over my shoulder any more. That's all."

"But you can't trust them either... When you are with them you have to watch your back even more..." "I can't make it all by myself, you know? And now that Lily won't accept my apology..."

I don't know what to say to this. Somehow, he is right, even if it's all wrong. For the millionth time I wonder what I would have done. Without my family, without my friends in my timeline, without Dumbledore backing me up in this one. I have been so alone for so long, but at least I was left alone, as well. Would I care about anything at all? Or just hex whatever moves in my general direction? Would I be the dragon instead of the knight? And would that be for the worse?

"I know you worry about me, Whisper. But I'm good enough for this. I could actually make it, you know?"

"But do you believe... what they believe? About... purebloods?"

He shrugs. "No. Potter and Black are purebloods and they're just scum. Lily is muggleborn and she is - she was my friend. But in the end it doesn't matter. It's not about believe. It never is. It's only about power."

Oh, my poor boy. Poor poor boy, who has no idea about fanaticism, leadership cult, the kind of hatred behind it. How can such a smart person be that stupid? Maybe I should throw a book about it at him when he's in the library for the next time.

But I know that even if I knew how to explain the complex psychological structures behind this, he would not listen. He has found his silver lining in the Death Eaters, and tonight, Malfoy got him. There is only so much you can do for another person without them wanting it. But that doesn't mean I will stop trying. No way.

When I hover back home this night, my head is full of battle plans. Color-coded, complex plans, involving books and quotes and doors to open, to bring this boy out into the adult world, away from school, to a place where you are valued for your brains and ideas. Research, maybe, a real potions lab. My aunt took me to her physics lab when I was small, from time to time. A different world, where intelligence is valued, not punished, by peers. The world my parents have promised me if I only survived school. Even if that means changing the timeline, I will not allow him to know this and only this, and see all this hope and potential go to waste. No way.

I go slowly, feeling moonlight and shadows in exchange on my invisible skin as I pass by the windows, knotting the net of my plan in my mind. The only thing I don't expect, the only thing I don't take into consideration, is that Professor Dumbledore would await me in my room to tell me that he will sent me home right now. So of course this is what inevitably happens.

 

***

_Invictus,_ William Ernest Henley (1875)

_The Once and Future King_ , T. H. White

 


	10. a multitude of shades grays, suspense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo we made it back to the present! I am not retelling the complete books from Goblet on, but I'm sure you all can fill the blanks yourself :) Thank you for sticking with this story, even if my updates take long. I will not abandon it. Promise.

 

 

There are still tears in my eyes when I crash land on the wall of McGonagalls office. All my begging, my explanations, everything I tried - failed. Dumbledore had found his goddamn consciousness again at the worst possible moment. He provided me with enough de-aging potion to erase two whole years from my body and face. One jumping hours and days in the 90's, one invisible in the 70's. The side effects suck balls and it has to be taken daily, but I don't worry about it. All I worry about is that I, too, abandoned Severus without so much as a word.

When I slam into the wall, I feel my body protest. It had gone through a lot. The de-aging hasn't erased the scars I got, or the muscles I had built up from hovering, and of course nothing in my mind. There is just less _room_ for it. I really don't feel good. Also, there is the fact that my heart has just been ripped apart by the one adult I still trusted to make reasonable decisions. Says much that most people see him as crazy. But you only do that untill you get too close. Maybe I got too close to everything in that night. And he knows.

I don't get up. I just don't have the strength. I stay where the spell has left me, on the floor, bushy curls all over my face, missing my French twist that kept them at bay. Strange, the things that bug us in mid-catastrophe.

"Granger!" McGonagall helps me up immediately. "Miss Umbridge - what in Merlin's name have you been thinking!" Oh, right. The pink toad. She made the Time-Turner explode on me a second ago. Slowly and carefully, for the effect, I rise. She has hurt me. She has ripped me out of my life and therewith forced me to confront things I never wanted to question. The past. Hogwarts. The Potters. The Marauders. Good, bad and what is in between. Myself.

I hate her. I hate her for what she did to me, what she caused because she is arrogant, careless, self-absorbed, proud, doesn't think about any consequences at all, and really sucks at witchcraft. I guess after all I have been through, the one thing I cannot forgive any authority figure is _incompetence_.

I rise my head and stare at her. The stare of an Invisible Girl, so strong people felt it in their necks. The stare of someone who is their own only chance to make it out of any mess. The stare that once upon a time, just once but nevertheless, made Professor Albus Dumbledore step back. It is my only weapon. And it smashes her to the wall just the same as I had been. She steps back from me and McGonagall, and then the door bursts open.

Dumbledore. My pain is still so fresh that I want to attack him with all I have. But how could I? Even if I tried, there is no way I could win this, and he would have to defend himself against his sworn-in lionheart and everything would be so _awkward_.

So I just stare as he takes me away. He leads me through the empty halls and the floors I know so well, without touching me at all. All my Occlumency is broken and my pain leaks out in merciless waves that rush everything else away. Good, I think grimly, but then I don't think any more; my heart is ripped to pieces again because we pass Flitwicks classroom (where it all began), ripped and ripped and ripped.

Then, there are footsteps, hasty steps in our direction. I know their rhythm as I know my own heartbeat. Shakespearean timing, Baby Snake. Desperation hits me like a flash of lightning. He is an Occlumens now, probably a Legilimens as well, and probably and incredibly good one. And if my stupid secrets are worth anything at all, I must not let him see it. Anything. Not my knowledge, not my guilt, and oh my good God, not my _feelings_ . My weird, complicated, completely _inadequate_ feelings.

And with all my remaining strength - which is surprisingly much - I pull back my Occlumency walls. No, pull back is wrong. I create them, I make them appear so suddenly and high and strong and harsh that Professor Severus Snape physically bounces off. This is not how it is supposed to be, not the subtle art of flowing thoughts in a clear head, but there is no way on earth and beyond I can manage that now.

Surprised and confused he stopps on the other end of the floor. I hide my face in my hair as he comes closer carefully, moving like a panther. He radiates power. The difference from him now to the boy I held an hour ago - a lifetime ago - is like the difference between a breeze and a thunderstorm.

"Headmaster?" His voice is sharp and silky at the same time. "There was an eruption. Someone interrupted a very delicate experiment of mine and probably ruined it." His voice is so deep now, and he articulates perfectly. In another world, he would be one hell of an actor, with that voice.

Dumbledore sighs. "A woman from the ministry, a Mrs. Umbridge, decided to show off with a backfiring spell. Miss Granger here got the worst of it. Minerva is showing her out right now. I am sure that she will welcome your assistance to say goodbye to our guest if you hurry. On the other hand, you helped to show the door to too many people already today, in my opinion."

"And you should really consider better security for the castle, headmaster. Trolls, a basilisk, werewolves, Lockheart, now even bureaucrats - what is next?"

I cannot completely suppress my amused snort. And bam, there is the pain again. Teenage hormones are such bitches, and the two-years-younger-body goes all in. Why do people do that on purpose, again? De-Aging? For the sake of stupid beauty ideals? Merlin.

Also, I managed to get his attention. _Congrats, H, exactly what is the smartest move now, eh? Make him curious. Great_.

Fuck. But I forgot something important: Here in my timeline, Professor Snape generally doesn't give a flying bugger about the students. He just shrugs. "You will excuse me, Albus, but I have no intention to play with Minervas leftovers. If there are leftovers at all, if that woman really hurt one of her golden lion cubs. I will leave now and try to save the remains of several months work." With wooshing robes he leaves, and I am yet again between laughing and crying. I wonder if he had trained that turn. The skinny, bony Baby Snake I knew would have been brought to his knees by his very own robes if he had tried to move with such grace. Wait, grace? Oh, I am so, so screwed.

Severus out. Enter Lupin.

He wears his hand-me-down robes, and carries his battered luggage.

He looks tired, and has new wounds. Last night he tried to kill me. Both last nights. In both timelines, all the things that I have learned about killing werewolves didn't even cross my mind during the attacks. Not once. He was always Professor Lupin to me.

But right now he is not. He freezes in mid-movement, and he stares at me, and his nostrils shake. Does he know? What if he knows, and he will use what he knows to get revenge on the man who _helped to show the door_ to him? What if he rats me out? What if he loses it? Could I make it a third time? I feel my shoulders tense and goosebumps on my skin. Primal fear, not influenced by logic. Werewolf. Man-wolf. Red eyes in the dark. Hot breath on my legs. A scream and a howling. I hide behind my hair once more.

"Ah, Remus." Dumbledore breaks the growing tension between us. "I can only ask you again to reconsider."

"No good in that, Albus. It's out."

"And the students still value you. I am quite certain that a huge amount would back you, and so would most of your collogues, and I, of course."

"We've been through this. Thank you, Albus, but I better be off before the howlers arrive."

"Why not be the change you want to see in the world, Remus? Why not show them again that you are a man of great reliability, trustworthy, and kindness?"

 _Because,_ says the hard voice in my head _, because he forgot to take his goddamn potion, he forgot, and he almost got Harry killed, and because of that Peter got away and Sirius is still forced into hiding. Nothing of this was a leap of fate or a cruel destiny. It was someone forgetting his damn monthly precautions, something that every thirteen-years-old girl can manage, because he saw a name on the map and lost his head._

 _And because we both now._ I peer through from under my hair. My tears dry. The pain in my chest dims down to a constant, heavy ache, instead of the hot-glowing ripping from before. I can almost bear it now. Because I am the guard and this is my castle and right now, it is not safe.

I know that it is not fair even while I think it. I know that this is not who I want to be. I know that Remus Lupin is so much more than his condition, and that he was shaken last night, and in a hurry, and afraid and sad. And still there were red eyes in the dark, and another adult let me down. Irresponsible. Untrustworthy. Not safe .

Our eyes meet for a split second. I know that he knows what I think. I know he thinks so, too. It is over.

Exit, pursued by Dumbledore. All I can do is hold it together as best as I can. But now I know that I must, because apparently, none of the adults care. I have an iron grip on my walls as I sit through the lecture about my responsibility and duty in Dumbledore's office, and he reminds me that I am a protector first. I nod mechanically, even tough I want to scream _I am person first! I am me first!_ in his gentle face with the twinkling eyes. But he is a king and I am a knight and this is my castle, and I meant what I promised. My pain doesn't free me from my promises.

But I am only a human, too, and I need a damn break. Once released, I hurry to the Room of Requirement, storm to a certain corner and freeze there, heavily panting. The mirror is still there. Is it not the Mirror of Erised, after all?

I rip down the blanket and stare at it, wondering why instinct brought me here, instead of literally anywhere else. I step closer and closer, but the glass stays empty of any reflection. This time I touch it. The surface is smooth and cold, and steady.

And nothing happens at all. I press my other hand against it, and my whole body. But of course it isn't some mystic gate. There is no way back. There are no answers. Nowhere.

 

I have faced many things in my life. The teacher's labyrinth, a troll, a huge-ass snake, the giggling of the pretty girls when you walk by, a werewolf, an omen of death dog animagus, loads and loads of tests (I still suffer from test anxiety, for the record), flying on brooms, flying through a storm, loneliness, time-travel. But what I have to face now scares me shitless: The Quidditch Worldcup.

Loads and loads and _loads_ of people. Noisy, magical, crazy people from several nations stuffed together under a ridiculous muggle-cover no one even tries to hold up any more (including Malfoys fucking peacocks), cheering for competing sport teams, with a free running Peter Pettigrew in the background. Damn chubby boy, when did you betray them? Why? And what will happen here?

_The word you are looking for is powder keg._

Hell yes. Also, basically no alone time for days, which chokes me. I have been working hard to come clear with being visible again, and probably broke my parent's hearts about my jumpiness whenever they tried to hug me or just adress me, but slowly I'm getting there.

And now I'm taking the full load, first at the Burrow, and now in the even smaller tent. Go big or go home, as the muggles say - as if going home was a bad thing. Hell, I want to go home, to my bright room with the fairy lights and the pile of unread books next to my bed, listening to my parents discuss politics over coffee in the early morning, curled together around Crooks, soft and warm, ready to re-read King Arthur for the millionth time. But this world is only a small part of my reality now, and I have to face the rest of reality sooner or later, so I throw myself back in.

Some things are harder than others. It is quite hard to make it through the nights with the tears and the loss and the nightmares without disturbing Ginny, who sleeps like a rock. It is even harder to stand the dumb faces my friends pull when they understand that the magical world does not end at Great Britain's frontier. Wow. Have the boys always been that childish, never thinking outside their own heads, fighting over nonsense, getting into heated discussions about hypothetical Quidditch maneuvers no one even cares for? I catch myself more than once zoning out, day-dreaming about my invisible time. In the past, people our age were older. Or maybe just the people I have met.

After all this time missing Harry and Ron so badly, I find their real selves disappointingly _small_. I know how unfair that is, and do my best to keep it together, but the thought doesn't stop coming back. Maybe I'm just a bad friend, maybe, after all, I still haven't learned how to really connect.

I have to admit that, when shit finally hits the fan after the big match, I am not even surprised. _Told you so,_ says the voice. But I don't have time to congratulate myself for my amazing foresight of a quite foreseeable escalation, since I am now busy not to lose my last nerve in a screaming, panicking crowd while also protecting my friends. Keeping Harry and Ron from troubles is like herding cats away from empty boxes, but I do my best, and the three of us manage to pass a house elf, Ludo Bagman, Draco Malfoy and chattering French girls without losing each other, dueling or doing anything else we usually end up doing, but suddenly, we find ourselves alone in the forest. Great. Just great. Why do I even go outside?

Suddenly, someone calls the Dark Mark, and about 20 aurors try to shock us into oblivion. At least I manage to pull Harry and Ron out of danger. I need all my self control to not roll my eyes to the back of my head when the wizards actually discuss weather or not Harry Potter has been casting that green skull.

Incompetence. Incompetence wherever I look. Then, they screw over a house elf for taking Harry's wand (how can you lose your WAND in a moment like this?) and prove once more that feeling like as superior being while being world's leading ignoramus is magically possible for even more than one person per group. Even I know that house elf magic has nothing to do with wand magic, but like a pawn in chess asshat Crouch kicks her out for looking stupid in front of his colleagues for like five minutes.

It isn't right. It just isn't right, but no one else seems to care. Once again I am invisible and unheard. Sure, house elves are convenient... I keep thinking of that semi-bad muggle movie, Century Man. _One is always happy to serve._ What would it need to solve this? Education? Freedom? Harry's friend Dobby loves it, but separate Mother-Hen-Filly from her students would be just cruel. Still, a cage is a cage even if you like it in there. Can I do something? Am I supposed to do something?

I keep thinking about it, even while we are back on the train, and cannot find an answer. The welcome and the sorting is the usual, but they finally announce what Percy was so eager to not-tell us over the summer: They will hold a tournament here, with two other wizard schools.

 _One year where you don't have immediate death threats and they decide to BRING one just to hide the brooding danger_ , nags the voice. Always so negative. It could be a good chance to make new friends, allies, connections whatsoever, and also a year without bloody Quidditch. Personally, I am thankful for that. I've got enough challenges ahead without having my friends discussing more buggering flying balls than anyone should care for at every meal.

Back at my dorm, I feel once more the weight of zero privacy at my shoulders. I have never really liked to be crammed in a room with two other girls, and now after all the silence I outright detest it. But, I wouldn't be me if I hadn't made a plan for that.

 _Brilliant, beautiful and most of all, modest._ Shut it, inner critique, will you? I start charming my four-poster enthusiastically, but I'm only half through when Parvati and Lavender enter.

"Homework already?" Lavender sneers. I've always liked Parvati better, to be honest. She would have never been that clingy about Lav if there wasn't her twin sisters place to re-fill, I guess. I get myself together. I made promises in the silence to change my behavior. Time to act like it.

"Hullo... I, erm, after that whole animals are criminals and break into the castle thing from last year, I've looked up protection spells for the beds... I can do yours, too, if you want."

"Do they work against nightmares?" Parvati asks. I look at her closely. Maybe more closely than I have looked for years. She has dark rings under her eyes.

"That Dark Mark?" I ask carefully. Lavender puts her arm around her friend's shoulders immediately and gives me an angry glare.

"I keep dreaming they get my sister while I'm asleep..." She leans against her friend, so closely that for a moment I wonder if they are more than friends.

"There is, erm, a charm mothers use for their babies when they sleep. It looks like a butterfly, and shines blue when the other is safe and sound asleep, and rings when they are distressed. I can... teach you both, or just you and you show your sister, and then you know you're both all right, when you put it on your butterfly hair clips you'd also now during the day..." They stare at me, and I feel how nervous I get.

"You noticed the clips?"

"Well, its hard not to, right?" I see their faces darken and I understand that I'm about to fuck up. "Erm, I, sorry. I'm trying to say that since you two and your sister already know how to rock them I thought it would be nice after all the stress everyone had in the last years. So I wanted to offer you to do the charm as a way to say sorry for being so stuck-up and bossy sometimes. Most of the time." That was hard, but absolutely necessary. How can I look down on Death Eaters when I look down on other people because they don't share my interests? It's the first step to become an asshole, and it is one of the major things I learned in the past. Never look down on someone.

To my endless surprise, Parvati gives me a bright, wide smile. "Lav, come over here." And suddenly, there are two girls sitting on my bed, looking at me with serious faces. "Hermione, we never were mad at you. We thought that you wanted to be left alone, so we did. You know, you are not bossy. You are a boss."

"A _bossbabe_ ," interrupts Lavender. "One day you will be some important witch with a muggle suit and tie and you will crush anyone under your heels who is unjust. We know you don't care for much of our hobbies..."

"...but you are welcome to join in any time. You want your reading time? No problem. You want to complain about them stupid boys? Also no problem. And you know what? Lav, are you in?"

"Do we wear pink on Wednesday? Course I am! We heard that the tournament will come with a ball. A real ball. And if you want to, we can use this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and turn you into a swan."

"A bossy swan." Parvati grins. I swallow. I really don't know what to say. Apart from the fact that ending each others sentences is a little scary, these girls are amazing. The Gryffindor spirit has always been life fast, forgive easily, but being this supportive and accepting needs a level of bravery I failed to recognize before. I failed a lot in my past life. But I do learn.

After what I've learned from my latest heartbreak, I say what I want to say as long as I can. "You two are amazing. And supportive. I - wow. Thanks."

"Girl power!" They squeal in unison and raise their hands for me to high five them. They even are so generous to ignore that I flinch back for a moment. Then, I high five them both.

"Okay, bossbabe, now that this is settled I'm sure you want us to leave, so you can colour code a calendar?" All I can do is nod. They hug me both for a very short moment, and then sit on Parvatis bed to do a personality test in TeenageWitch. I get out my calendar and stare at it for over 30 minutes until I can process what just had happened. Then, I carefully put it away. "Would you mind... testing me, too?" They smile at me widely.

When I go to sleep later, I am not only done with my schedules, I also have rearranged my belongings in the small closet to make room for the radio I brought from home, and we all know now what romance type I am (in for the complicated - no shit, Sherlock?). When I fall asleep, I think that this is good. I did well today, had myself together today, and got my mess of a life under control today. One day down. Only a few thousand more to go. Merlin, God, whoever is listening - help me.

Apparently, neither Merlin nor God nor anyone else is listening. As soon as the other contestants are here and gotten comfortable, Harry gets, against all odds, chosen for the tournament and the schools goes nuts in hate on him (us) once more. This time, even Ron gets on the side of the mob, and as always, the teachers overlook it on every level possible. Pav and Lav have turned around to give me the cold shoulder again after I am sticking to Harry (girl power fades as quick as fashion, I guess) and our new defence teacher is a downright psycho. And that's coming from the jumpiest jumper around right now.

He showed Unforgivables in front of Harry AND Neville, who looks like shit even the day after. Of course, the other day comes with double potions. To give Harry and Ron a chance to clean up their social mess I stick with Neville as a partner. He doesn't even try today, just stares sadly into the fumes. I do my best to lead him through, but Professor Snape is even more pissed than he normally is, and after verbally smashing Harry, he honours us with his attention and starts to barrage questions at us.

Ever the interceptor, I get them all, and in the end he fumes as much as the potion. When he turns his gaze directly to Neville, something in me snaps and I step to the side, between Neville and the Big Bloody Bat, right again in the line of fire. Our eyes meet, and suddenly, I feel something like a brush against my Occlumentic barrier (it is still not a river). It doesn't feel like a try to enter, just a - recognizing? Well, he did run into it, after all, and all I ever did since class started again was to avoid eye-contact.

_Which was a good plan, actually, until you butchered it._

That. Was. For. Neville.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that._

I hate you.

_I am you._

"Twenty points from Gryffindor. Also, detention after class," he hauls in my direction.

"But that's lunchtime!"

"I am, in fact, aware, Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor for stating the obvious."

I feel my lips twitch. Irritated, Professor Snape wanders off to scare someone else and I feel Neville relax. The curse ends soon enough, and I stay back in the empty classroom, bag packed and over my shoulder, leaning against the table. I am a sworn guardian of Hogwarts and saved his damn life, I'm not sitting here like a goody-two-shoes first grader, waiting for him to unleash the fury. Also, my de-aged body feels as uncomfortable as a too-tight and stiff muggle jeans, and the constant noise around me makes me crazy. In short, I'm up for a fight.

"So, I see you have left the rule-abiding nerds for a bit of rebellion, Granger?" Snape asks without turning around to me, or grace me with as much as a look.

"And if so, sir?" Now he does look.

"Then I should warn you that a righteous rebelling know-it-all is even less liked than a usual know-it-all," he hisses, with the pure purpose to hurt.

"I've never been popular anyway, sir. What is my detention?" This is so far from our usual conversations that it is ridiculous. Just get it over with already.

"We will see about that. If it's not for Gryffindor fame, what else might drive you to become another thorn in my flesh?"

"I was only tying to help Neville, sir, after professor Moody fu... erm, unsettled him."

"Moody? Anyway. I don't see how you parroting the words from the book back to Longbottom is any help for him, at all."

Parroting? Parroting! He just...! Why the flying fuck is no one ever getting it? I finally let out the sigh and eye roll that I have suppressed for years. To hell with it now, when you are chin deep in shit don't hang your head.

"The reformulation of already stated facts is only valuable to a person's learning process when said person is either suffering from a limited vocabulary and therefore needs to use own, meaning simpler, expressions to fully process the information in the sense of translating it to their level, or when said person has problems to adapt information without personal context, and therefore needs to explain it to themselves. Since I suffer from neither, a constant retelling of what I have read would not only be a waste of my time and energy, but also disrespectful to the original author, since they have set their words in a specific order for a reason. Sir."

_And to your right, we have years of frustration breaking free, while to your left, we see a potions master's jaw drop. The yelling in the background, ladies and gents, comes from the students seeing house points melt away._

Thanks, reason. So helpful.

_Always a pleasure._

"Concerning Neville, who is not only my friend but also a genius in a field he can actually relate to, my information is of certain value, since he hasn't molten a cauldron whenever I help him. And for the record, sir, since you refuse to teach from the book and leave out small, but for the untrained scholar essential intermediate steps in your own explanations, my efforts to help are actually helpful, yes." If I had a fucking mic now, I would fucking _drop_ it.

I still stand there arms crosses and chin high, and do not avoid his stare. "You are very sure about your position at Hogwarts as the brain of the Golden Trio, right, Miss Granger?" He purrs with his best silky danger voice, dropping the subject to my disappointment. Getting personal when defeated by logic? I had expected more, Baby Snake.

I cannot help but snort at that. "Sir, apart from a constant headache I get nothing out of that position, emotional value of friendship aside. Some house points in first year that clearly were favouritism, and the literal front seat whenever shit hits the fan."

He flinches at that. "The boys are my friends and I am the brains, but I will not dumb myself down so no one will feel threatened. And by the way, if you would please proceed to rip me of as many points as you would like, I have to go to my next class now."

"Your language is really not appropriate for a girl your age, Granger, and I don't mean the swearing."

"I'm an insufferable know-it-all, sir, the use of fancy long words is in the job description." And there it is, the tiny smile I've missed so much. Seems like whatever I do, whenever I am, I am always doomed to miss something.

"Dismissed, Granger. Get out before I change my mind." I throw my hair around and strut out. Once outside, I cannot stop shaking. Too much. Too much of everything. Too many people, too close, too little space in my body, and so many blank spaces I cannot fill.

What happened in the last twenty years, is there anything left from Severus the boy? Without actively choosing it, my feet carry me to my secret hideout. Once I am in, I feel finally relaxed again. I take of the wooden bracelet I transfigured my hoverboard into, and start my usual training round. The piles have grown a bit, and that map I never finished is useless again. My camp, protected and warded to the teeth (if camps had teeth) is still there. With a sigh of relieve and a wave of wand I undust it, and fall backwards onto the sofa. I fall asleep as soon as my head touches my old pillow, the tent roof over me like an extra blanket, protective.

When I finally wake up and make my way to the common room, a shocked and sheet-white Harry awaits me to tell me that his first tasks includes facing a dragon. Has everyone lost their fucking mind?

 

 

***

 

Another author's note: Usually I don't believe too much in self explaining work, but this one is important to me, so... I just wanted to say that Remus Lupin is a precious cinnamon roll (tm) and one of the most fascinating characters of the whole series. I am sure that there are only two reasons for him to leave Harry after the third year: wanting to be there for Sirius, and deep regret and self blame/hate over the forgotten potion, putting kids in danger. I am not trying to Remus-bash. I just think that is how he felt, because no amount of howlers could have kept Moony away from the Prongslet if he didn't see himself as a danger. And Hermione, well, had a really, really hard night. The kind of night that doesn't immediately make you softer on people. Even though she tries.

As always, dear reader, your comments and thoughts are highly appreciated!

 

 

 

 

 


	11. on the quicksand of ambivalence

 

My birthday has long come and gone and still confuses the heck out of me. Actually, I should be 15 years old now, but I added so much extra time in my third year that I am probably 16. Also, the whole year I spent in the past. Am I 17 now? Has the trace worn off? Or is the extra time not counting? Am I already a wizard adult now?

I need a way to find out, but I am also helping Harry to research dragons. In the end the library has once more the answer to my problems, as I accidentally stumble across a book with more, erm, mature content. Not all uses of dragon blood are family friendly, but the book opens for me without hesitation. So, apparently, I am actually 17. That's nice to know, and it also means the trace gone, and some more freedom in the castle. It has always been soft on me after taking the oath, through, but now that I am sure about my status I start to hang out late in the library again. Like, really late.

Half because it calms me, half because I somehow hope to run into Severus, to maybe somehow restore the friendship I miss so much. Could I maybe just re-appear as Whisper in the library? Would that be cheating? Lying? Manipulating? Meddling? Selfish? Does he even still come here?

I get a heavy throwback on everything when one day, in front of the dungeons, Harry and Malfoy start a little duel, and I end up hit with the teeth grow curse. Somewhere, in the stupid soft spot my traitor heart has for him, I had hoped that mighty Professor Snape would be one to put his foot down and end bullying. Of course he doesn't, and I feel strangely let down by something I should have seen coming. I did know him in my first three years after all.

_Do you still want him to hold your hand, H?_

I pull a face at myself when the matron comes in. She shakes her head. "Stupid," she grumbles. I say nothing. Not that I have nothing to say, but my teeth are too long.

Madam Pomfrey gets me my preferred teeth size back, also confirms my age, and appears to be pretty unhappy about the whole time-turning business “last” year. Dumbledore had finally decided to inform her when he started to give me the de-age. Nothing about the accident though, so from calculation alone I got a lot of sleep in my third year, and my secrets are safe.

Still. Somehow I have expected more from Severus. Why did he even become a teacher? I always had the theory that it was a lost boy thing, that he saw Hogwarts as a home like Harry, but after what I saw in the past... I really, really wish we could just talk again, that talking to him would be the fist thing I do after waking up, and then going through the conversation again while on patrol, invisible, safe, far away from Malfoy and Harry's latest troubles and the never-ending rumours and whispers and glances when I walk by, when it was me and him and the night and the castle, when things were easy like that, even though they were hard. But does this person still exist?

Two weeks after our confrontation in class, my desire to interact with him is stronger than any reason. I stay in the library even longer than usual, I put a Disillusionment on myself every time someone comes, and still every time, my traitor heart hopes it's him. Until, in that one night, it really is him. "Five points and detention, Granger. Curfew is long over." His voice is a cold hiss behind me.

I turn around slowly and give myself time to find the calm flow of real Occlumency. Again it won't come, and I have to settle for the walls. He looks absolutely pissed. If I hadn't known that my mere presence in his favourite reading nook was a violation to him, I would have felt very unfairly treated. And probably scared. But I am not scared of him any more.

"I am sorry, sir, I got carried away in research. I will go to bed immediately, and await note for my detention."

"What, no smart-ass excuses this time?"

I have a lot of them, actually, but all of them would be really awkward conversation starters. I'm your invisible childhood friend, so please let it go. I just smile guiltily and look down.

"How did you even manage to stay in here when they closed the library? Madame Pince is not know to let students slip." He crosses his arms and stares at me without blinking. I feel him trying to read my mind, but it's only a brush on my wall. Well, now he knows that it's there for sure. Or he thinks my head is absolutely empty. Don't know which would be worse.

"I am easy to overlook, sir." I grab my book bag. This is getting weird, and my secrets press against the wall from the inside like a bunch of shoppers press against windows before opening time on America's Black Friday, and I better get going now.

"Is that why you are such an insufferable know-it-all? So that at least you aren't _overheard_?" He tilts his head with that well-known smug smirk. I take a deep breath. Damn it, Baby Snake, when you shoot you hit the mark, right?

"I have long ago decided that I will not allow anything to take my voice away, sir, even more so after I was petrified for months without the ability to speak up for myself. Or speak at all. I never thanked you for preparing the cure, though." Now that takes him off-guard. Hehe. He lowers his chin for a better look at me. Somebody has grown. Suddenly, it occurs to me that he is one of the most powerful wizards of our time, probably the most skilled Occlumens, and that no one talks to him like that. But I meant what I said. I am no longer a ghost.

"Madame Pomfrey was responsible for that, Granger, as you would know, if you paid any attention to the things around you that are not in books."

I feel small and stupid for a moment, and then I don't. _A few weeks ago I was flying through a storm to save your life._

I cross my arms too and lean against the table (that pose makes me feel bigger, somehow), preparing myself to meet his gaze.

 _Full confrontation mode, H, it's all or nothing now. Find out if you even_ want _that friendship._

"Madam Pomfrey surely is an amazing healer and a strong and very capable witch, but she never smells of fumes, her hands and wrists lack the tiny scars from poison splits and fire sparks, and her glasses aren't damp-repellent, as can be seen when she drinks tea. They get all steamed up. From that I assumed that she is not a brewer, but of course I can be wrong." I say all of that softly without breaking eye contact. "So, thank you, sir, and good night." I leave quickly, but I just know that he follows me with his eyes, and I have to bite my lip to suppress a giggle. He hated that when I did it as whisper – using “of course I could be wrong” for “I am not an you know it”.

I replay the conversation over and over in my head once I'm in bed, together with the first one we had in the dungeons. I guess it went quite well.

And, dear inner voice: Yes. I still want him to hold my hand. I want him to know that Whisper is me. I don't need him to save me. I can save my damn self. But maybe I want him stand in the back and applaud while I do it.

My detention note comes the next day at the breakfast table. 8 o'clock, today, in the dungeons, in the well-known cramped handwriting.

Harry eyes the note. "What's that?"

I sigh dramatically. "Detention. Professor Snape caught me in the library last night."

"You were there again? You shouldn't have, Hermione, I'm so sorry! Now you are in troubles because of me..."

"Don't worry, Harry. It's more important to get you through this task."

"I... ummm... thanks. Found anything useful?"

"No, I'm afraid not. And I will lose tonight for research, that's really annoying."

"Maybe I should piss him off too, so you don't have to be alone with that greasy git." He looks angry. "Or just catch his attention somehow, just the fact that I exist is enough for him."

 _Now this is friendship_ , I tell myself. _He would go in there with you without second thoughts. Y_ ou never need seconds thoughts with Harry. That is exactly what makes me long for something else. I am really not a good person, I guess.

"Leave it, Harry," I interrupt my friend warmly. "I'll do whatever disgusting task he assigns to me tonight, and then I'll join you in the common room." I will be better, I promise. I will value what I have. It is a lot.

The day passes by so slowly that I am starting to think the time sand under my skin keeps pushing me back every few minutes. It is a mere miracle that lunchtimes comes, and even more of a miracle that it actually is almost eight.

When I enter the dungeons, my wand is ready in my sleeve. I don't need any more Slytherin attention or growing teeth now. It's hard enough to move around in the castle without Disillusionment spell.

"Granger." I'm so jumpy that I turn around immediately, let go of my book and take a stand, wand drawn and raised face-high, half through an almost unsaid Protego, before I even recognize the voice behind me. Of course it is Se- Professor Snape.

"I... sorry, sir." I lower the wand and try to stop shaking. Well, at least I let my knife where it was. I feel stupid.

He raises an eyebrow. "Spending too much time with Moody? Constant vigilance? Also, 5 points for threatening a teacher."

_Going well, H._

"What were you even planning to use?" He has that smug expression on his face.

"Protego, Sir."

"You are aware of the fact that there goes an actual spell with the movement, Granger?"

"I would have done it unsaid, sir. There is no use in a protection when your enemy knows what you are up to." Well, almost unsaid. It only works for some things. I had only myself to train with.

"You can't use unsaid spells. You are in your fourth year. Ten points from Gryffindor for lying."

I just can't let that one go. That's even worse than the know-it-all. I roll my eyes at him (immediate dagger stare, including flaring nostrils) and without even breaking eye contact I use an unsaid Wingardium Leviosa on the book. Now that one I can do, I used it more than once to passive-aggressively back up my opinion in discussions with him. And with back up I mean let a book fly against his head. Now, I let it fly an elegant circle before I direct it in my open hand, and close it with a loud slap.

He has his face under control , but there is the tiniest lift of the corner of his mouth, the beginning of the crooked half-smile I saw so often back then.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for boasting," he says softly. Bastard. He passes me to open the door to his office. "Five _for_ Gryffindor for skill."

I almost forget to breathe as I follow him. Has anyone ever seen, or heard of, a student outside Slytherin gaining points from him? Wow. We move into office with the slimy creatures in the glasses.

"Since you are a terrible overachiever and way too early, I have yet to gather ingredients from my private collection. Wait." He opens the wardrobe I stole some ingredients from some years ago. Only that it isn't a wardrobe any more. It is a gateway to his private potion lab.

Now I really forget to breathe as I stumble in its direction, to blatantly stare in awe at what I see. I did really not expect that. There is a huge, high, open room that has a window to the lake just like Slytherin dorm. The last daylight is caught in the lake's surface far above us, and the beams of light draw delicate designs in the water and on the wooden ground of the room. The water is not dark and green in this light, but glimmers in the deepest blue you can imagine. It is astonishingly beautiful.

Since I am still not used to the fact that people can see me again, and therefore apparently lost all self control, I just pass Professor Snape and enter the room; I only stop right in front of the glass and raise my hand to see the reflection of the waves on my skin.

An elegant creature, I think it's a Mermaid, glides by. I turn around. I see the confusion on Professor Snape's face, and only then realize that I am beaming at him like a kid on Christmas morning.

_Very cool, H, very cool. Why don't you just hug him and ask him out for the ball?_

Shut up, reason, no need to get that sarcastic.

_You are pathetic, H._

Yeah. Probably. "You can see this, Granger?"

"I'm standing right in it? ... Sir?"

"How can you see through the glamour?" he hisses. Oh. Oh shit. Oh. Shit. Oh Merlin's star spangled underpants. Okay. Okay, keep calm, keep calm. This didn't go as planned but maybe that's for the better.

Nothing about the guardian thing, of course. Or me having no boundaries in the castle. What else do I have as an explanation? Ah, the wards. Not illegal. Not even taken seriously. I only like it to have a secret. Time to make a decision. Maybe, just maybe, it is possible that I can regain the small moment of respect I have already gained out in the corridor. Maybe, just maybe, it is possible that he could start to respect me. Me, Hermione Granger, not me, an invisible whisper.

Hesitantly, I pull my collar away from my neck, so that he can see the first of the three wards I got tattooed on my back. It's easier like that to bind the time sand. "The Ward of Seeing, sir. I got the tattoo over the summer. After everything that happened last year..." I bite my lip. For him, last year I helped two of his childhood predators to escape, one of them being a loyal servant to Voldemort, protected a third who happens to be a werewolf that once attacked him, and played a major part in making him look stupid in front of the Minister. Brilliant move, bringing this up.

But instead of a hate rage, I only get a raised eyebrow. "I did not expect that from you, of all people, Granger. Wards are _esoteric_. I have only ever met one serious witch who uses them, and she was extraordinary enough to get away with it. For the rest, it is simple window dressing."

Well, just get yourself some time sand under your skin, and let the fun begin. "I can see the room, right? Maybe they only work on some people."

"What kind of people would that be?" He inquires, expecting something about my blood status, or maybe in defense of the nameless extraordinary witch. Who might she be?

"Know-it-alls," I say with a smirk, and accept the five points I lose for it without batting an eye. Nothing I can't make up for tomorrow, my transfiguration essay is almost worthy of publication.

"That witch you mentioned, would she be interested in corresponding with me, sir? I am only beginning to explore the field, and the books at hand are really mostly esoteric," I start to babble. Damn it, H. Composure.

He is frowning again. "Even if I would care to help you, Granger, said witch is out in the field, and certainly not one to exchange letters with a stuck-up teacher's pet."

Aaaaand I'm hating that witch with all of my heart. Some secondhand wizard Lara Croft had apparently managed to impress him, while I am stuffed back into the nerd box.

He makes me carry the ingredients back to his real office. My detention is to prepare mandrake roots, which is mean on several levels: With the schools silver knives, getting even cubes is really hard work, also most people are strongly repelled or even emotionally shaken by the fact that the roots look like ugly babies. With my now glamored all-cutterly knife, the chopping itself isn't a problem, and for the rest - I am very well capable to separate human-lookalikes from actual humans. I can't even stand to see someone suffer when I deeply hate them (read, Malfoy) but I don't feel sympathy for mannequins when they are taken away during window reorganization. Not any more. These roots here are nothing more than biting potatoes.

Also, right now, I am projecting the unknown face of the extraordinary field witch on every mandrake as I chop it into even quarters. I spend the next hour enthusiastically mincing her again and again, humming under my breath, trying not to think about the stories featuring the few female aurors I have read. In the field. What does that even mean? What field? Why do I immediately think of muggle action movies, Bond girls, and explosions? Field could just as well be a damn strawberry field, and she isn't corresponding because she can't fucking _write_.

Since the roots shriek I am to wear ear protection, so I don't notice Professor Snape next to me untill he tips my shoulder. Jumpy as always, I flinch back from the disturbance and bring as much space between me and the danger as possible. There is a strange expression on his face for a moment, but then he shrugs it off, stuffs the last mandrake back into it's pot, and gestures at me to take the ear protection off. "Detention is over. Show me that knife."

Teeth grinding, I give it to him. I have fought off a giant spider with that knife, I have sworn myself to the castle with that knife, and I feel naked without it. Why didn't I hide it better? I knew how observant he is.

_Because you are getting arrogant, and arrogance means mistakes._

He turns it around a few times before putting it back on the table. "It is not as sharp as I expected. You put some strength into it, then. Hands." Carefully, I hold out the palms of my hands. I didn't notice the blisters before.

"There is dittany in the cabinet. Help yourself. Also, if you let slip one word -"

"Of you having Narnia in your closet? No, sir, I will not speak of that. Also, I don't like to be in the middle of attention, and some kid seeing through very advanced glamours would surely gain some. Also, thanks." Quickly I grab the dittany, throw a last longing glance at the lake window, and close it again.

It is only eight as I leave the dungeons, so I head right to the library for two hours of book company. I really need the silence in there now. Whenever I think 'I want to go home' now, I think of that room.

Annoyingly, I am not alone. Several students, including a boy from Durmstrang, are sitting on the small tables. I am hiding in my usual corner happy to be ignored, but Crookshanks has other plans. After only half an hour of sleeping peacefully next to me, he stretches and wanders over to the table where the Durmstrang boy is sitting.

My dear familiar jumps on the table, lets the boy pet him (very atypical) and then throws all of his orange fur weight onto the boy's homework, rolls on the parchment, and knocks over the ink. Time to intervene.

Quickly, I rush over to then. "Erm, hi. I'm Hermione Granger. He is my cat. Sorry about this mess, he isn't like that, usually."

"He is nice cat. Pleasure, Herr-mi-nee." I put Crooks away from the assignment, sit down next to him and carefully suck up the spilled ink with my wand. "Here you go, good as new. He doesn't do that, normally, really."

"Eh," he waves it away. "Pets like me. Come all the time." He gently pets Crook's head, and he purrs.

I can't help but smile. "I'm glad you like him back, he can be a brat sometimes." The cat gives me an offended glare, but I ignore him. "You are Sergey Poliakoff, right?"

"Yes, sorry. Vait, vhy you remember my name?"

"You were introduced at your first night in the castle?" (I do understand what's behind the question, but it's impolite to call out peoples insecurities).

He shrugs. "Usually, people see only Viktor. Not that the cares, tough."

I nod at that enthusiastically. "I am friends with Harry Potter. He hates the attention, too, even tough I think it's not quite the same. Krum worked for it, Harry mostly feels like he doesn't deserve it."

Suddenly, Viktor Krum appears behind him, so suddenly my dear cat hisses and jumps away. Krum towers behind Sergey and puts a hand on his shoulders as he stares at me. "Serge?" He adds something in his mother tongue.

"This is 'Erminee, Viktor, and she is very friendly. Be friendly too and speak English!" Viktor Krum, the sport star, suddenly looks like a called-out child, lets his head hang, and mumbles "hello". Then, he squeezes Sergey's shoulder again, and storms off.

"I, uh, sorry. Looks like he doesn't like me. I better go."

Sergey waves it off again. "It's all right. He reacts like that, to people, that intimidate him. He'll come around. Like cat." He takes long pauses in his sentences and carefully picks the right words. I also notice him eyeing Crooks, who acts as if he had planned to sit on my favourite bookshelf all the time.

"Wait, what? Intimidating? Me?"

"Eh. There is talk about you, on the table of Slytherin. You punched the Malfoy heir. And a werewolf, they say. And you say to the dark Professor, in-your-face, and help the chubby boy at potions." Oh, wow. Things have gone pretty wild at Slytherin dorm, I guess. It looks like Draco made me into a much more fearsome enemy, since he couldn't avoid that the word of me punching him was spread.

And here I was, thinking that me dating Harry would be the weirdest rumour this year. "Uh, that, yeah. Most of it isn't true. But I really better go now, your friend lingers behind the bookshelf and waits for me to leave."

"Don't be mad at him, please? He is... protective. Girls talk to me to get... him." Serge explains very softly, with a strange smile. The pieces click together in my head and suddenly it is completely obvious. These two couldn't be more of a couple if they wore matching rainbow robes.

I take a risk and raise an eyebrow at that. He grins. "I will tell him, worry not. You look to Slytherin house, often, but not for Viktor."

I do my best to keep my face neutral. "You notice things."

"I notice things. You notice things. We don't talk about things."

Now, I grin back at him. "No need to blackmail me, Serge. To be honest, I couldn't care less about who other people date. Also, its not... people don't mind, here. There are rumours that our headmaster had a very, very close male friend in his youth, and everyone absolutely admires Dumbledore, you see?" Even I do. Even after all, I still want him to notice me, to _approve_. I know it's probably not healthy, but feelings don't care.

Sergey returns my smile, but it is sad. "We don't stay here, forever. But come and learn with us tomorrow, if you like. We show you piece of magic from home, you tell us more about Dumbledore."

And this is how I am becoming friends with the Durmstrang crew. When I enter the library the next evening, they wave me over to their table. We share sweets, they teach me some clever spells that help you to stay warm in winter, and I show them how to produce the little flames in the jar. I find out that, like a lot of people, they look way scarier than they actually are. To be honest, they are huge dorks, just like any other boys. They all know about Viktor and Serge and make it clear that they would defend them to the very bone - and from what I hear about the spells and hexes they know, that wouldn't be a pillow fight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments and kudos! Over 100! I'm still pretty amazed about this much interest my little story is getting :)


	12. is our life's whole nemesis.

 

 

Somehow I feel betrayed. After all this time wishing that things would be normal again in my original time, nothing here is normal at all.

After waking up the fourth night screaming, since in my head, Harry's encounter with the dragon didn't go as well as in real life, Pav and Lav reconcile. They tell me how sorry they are about their behaviour, swear to be better next time, and strongly advise me to go and see Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught. I nod and slip out of the room, choosing to ignore the lame "...but not right now" they send after me. Always the same on-and-off. We love you, we hate you, we only wanted to copy your homework, we only wanted to hear stories about Harry, no, wait, we like you, ah, you did what, no we don't.

Halfway through the castle, I change my mind. Disillusionment on and hoverboard under me, I make my way to the Astronomy Tower. It has been a long time since I saw the magic dance. Carefully, I poke my wand in the second ward I have tattooed in my neck, Seeing. Without the time sand focused, it lets me see glamours and hidden things, just like you can see the hidden gateways to treasures in the video games dad let me play secretly at the mall sometimes. When the time sand is bound in it, it's lets me see everything. Even Narnia.

The time sand follows the spell, and there it is again - the beauty, the brilliance, the ever-flowing river of magic that surrounds us all, the very core of nature, the circling pattern that draws the formula of the world.

I feel the other source of magic before I see it. When I turn around, I am almost blinded. Dumbledore the man may be flawed, may do wrong, may be ruthless, may leave things he should change and change things he should leave for the sake of bigger plans. Dumbledore the wizard, the magician, is pure light, has never touched a spell or charm to hurt or destroy just for the sake of it, just to protect and grow and enable, to try and find out and gain knowledge, in utterly and beautiful synchronization with the world and its magical core - using, yes, but abusing, twisting, forcing, like the Dark Arts do, never. It shouldn't surprise me, with the phoenix and all, but it astonishes me.

The way I can see him now, and his barriers are all down and he allows me to see, heals some of my wounds. Sighing, I let go of the time sand and the world turns to the normal, less logical, less clear state. "Sir."

"Hermione, I need to apologize. I wronged you when you were trapped in the past. I hurt you with loneliness, I happily used your abilities to guard the castle, and I ripped you away from a life you liked and a friend you loved."

"Yes."

_Woah, CONGRATS, H, THAT WAS SAVAGE!_

Shut up, reason, I need to hear what's next.

"Do you allow me to explain?"

"Yes. Please."

He nods. "Back then, well, I only knew of the destructive power of love." He looks so sad now, so old. "Possessive desires, fear of loss, despair after actual loss. Imagine, you, invisible, strong, guided by this kind of grieve, burning in that flame... you could have ripped the fabric of the world apart, Hermione, and I do not say this to flatter you."

_He talks about himself, and Gellert Grindelwald._

No shit, Sherlock? Wow, even my inner rebel voice is a know-it-all, like these Russian dolls, there is always a smaller smartass inside.

Dumbledore smiles his sad smile, and I feel my anger melt away. We are all just human in the end. "In the end, I had to learn the truth... in the hardest of ways."

"Lily Potter, sir?"

"Lily Potter. Love, in either direction, real love... it can destroy everything, or save everything, or do both at the same time with painful tenderness." The well-known twinkle in his eyes has died away, and he allows me to see him weak, and questioning, and _that_ somehow reinstalls him as the Greatest Wizard of the Century. Isn't the human mind strange?

My captain, my king, whispers the voice inside of me that longs for Camelot, for oathes and swords, for simpleness in the fight of good against evil and for silver walls against the darkness. And maybe I am using him as this saviour figure, just as he has used me, maybe I am using him to project these wishes onto a person who is just a person in the end, but even if this may be so, he is our best and only chance in this.

Still, there are questions that demands answers, if I ever want to come to peace with my time travel: "Sir... there is more to Harry's protection than he knows, right? I mean, I saw Lily Evans and James Potter, and the Dursleys are the best Harry can get? Really? Sirius Black..." I take a deep breath. It is too confusing, and I don't know enough, the puzzle pieces in my head won't fit, so all that is left for now are questions of moral.

"Yes, my dear. Go on, ask." Dumbledore collects himself again.

"Don't you think he deserves to know the truth?"

"And you? What about your findings in the past?" He asks friendly, not threatening, or teasing, or mean. He just puts it in for discussion. As if he talks to an equal.

Still, my mind wails: "There is more than one truth, and it is _complicated_ , and some of the secrets are not mine to share, and... oh."

Dumbledore nods. "My dear girl... if you happen to find a solution that hurts no one, and helps everyone, I beg you to tell me. I do not say so to mock you, I promise. Sometimes, an old problem needs young eyes, and you are the brightest witch your age."

And here I find myself in the same damn boat as Dumbledore. A king and a lionheart, up to the same task: Protect. By all means necessary, on his side. But even though I start to understand how he thinks, his logic, and the weight on his shoulders, I hope I don't have to take the exact same road. We share a little smile from our separate sides of the metaphorical crossroad.

"Sir, until I managed to solve that magical lever problem, I would like to patrol again. It makes me feel better."

"Who am I to turn down a guardian? Do as you please, Miss Granger." I raise a brow on that. He laughs now, his friendly chuckle. "One of my oldest friends, a monk of sorts, used to say: At the beginning of your training, you are to obey without question. Now, you must learn to question everything, and obey yourself."

That sounds pretty much like a Karate Kid thing to me, but I do understand the worth of it. "Do you say my training ends, sir? School ends? Hogwarts, I... there is still so much I don't know, so much to learn, I..."

"There always is, my dear, there always is."

"But, professor, _who am I if I am not a scholar any more_?" It bursts out, and shocked I stare at the words that hang in the air now.

Dumbledore smiles kindly at me. "This, my dear friend, is another question no one can answer for you. Keep learning. Keep striving. But always keep in mind that everything you chose is really of your choosing now. You are an adult. If you stay, then you do so because you chose to."

After that, I feel better. Less like a liar. Maybe, Hermione Granger the student is really gone, but apparently, Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, the girls in my dorm, others in Gryffindor, and even the Durmstrang boys still like me. Whoever I am now.

Days pass. I am overthinking my conversation with Dumbledore to the point where everything I said is terrible, and then again to the point where everything is brilliant. The truth is possibly in the middle.

It is easy, getting lost in my own mind. Harry is busy ignoring his dragon egg, Ron is busy trying to look as if they never have been fighting, and everyone else is trying to be as annoying as possible. At least, it feels like it. I feel cornered in the common room, overflowed by noise and unpredictable action, shocked by sudden explosions caused by Fred and George, stressed out from teenage tension. I feel watched in the dorm, Pav and Lav eyeing me, whispering to each other. I feel ignored by the boys sometimes until I shriek at them, and dislike me for doing so, and sometimes I just feel too old for all of this.

Some of the curses bore me now. Some contradict me. I'm glad that there is still Arithmancy, calm and clear numbers and formula, working towards knowledge concerning the nature of magic and the schematics behind spells and charms.

But school isn't just Arithmancy. I feel awkward in the One-Man-Moody-Show. He scans me with his magical eye and seems to know about my de-age, but doesn't point it out. I am still not sure about him, though. There is... I don't know... something. Something in his face when it comes to the Dark Arts that reminds me of young Pettigrew when it came to violence. Or did I only see that because I knew how the story would turn out, and wanted to reassure myself about my ability to read people? To understand them?

I chew on my lip and hover through a silent night, and almost wish for a damn spider to creep out of the woods, so I get something to do and some tension to release. Suddenly the castle feels like a prison, as does my own head, and I use the next best window to get under the open sky. It is a relieve. The stars, the moon (half, for the record, after some things you never stop checking), the different blues and blacks and greys. I look back to the castle, the huge clock is ticking, and an all-too familiar silhouette glows black against the dimly illuminated background. Why is this man everywhere I turn?

I don't sleep that night. Even after my prolonged patrol I am not tired, though I am exhausted. I lay in my bed, stare at the ceiling, and feel my body change. The de-age wears off, and it feels like getting out of to small underwear. A relieve, but the skin is all red and sensitive. I want to be _me_ again.

_And who is that?_

Yes. Well. Haven't the faintest. But at least I know that the real Hermione always felt quite good in her body, and not stuffed into it like a sausage.

_Lies. When did you ever feel good about yourself?_

I didn't care.

_That is not the same._

I press my head into the pillow, but of course I can't hide from my own voice. Even my head feels too small. I can feel the walls of my skull press against my brain. Not a nice feeling. Mum said that puberty would be like this. Of course I didn't believe her, and followed the written tail of beautifully blooming into adulthood, happily jumping over green fields like a foal. Ginny has that appeal, of wind and freedom and too long legs. If I didn't know what weight she carried I could have hated her for it.

It is quite annoying, not really being able to hate someone because of knowledge. I really wish for some justified rage right now, on anybody, anything. Where is Draco Malfoy when you need someone to punch? But then his father pops up in my brain, perfection down to every strand of hair, telling off his own son in public during the Quidditch World Cup. I cast a protective charm around me to not disturb anyone, and just scream into my pillow.

The next day, real Occlumency is as far away as when I first took up the book. I grip my walls with pure willpower, but I am snappish at the boys, and unfair, and overly annoyed. Seing myself unexpectedly mirrored in a window and needing too damn long to recognize myself doesn't help either. Education happens, and homework does, I hate everything and everyone and consider fleeing the library when I see the Durmstrang crew at night, but they wave enthusiastically, and I give in. At least they aren't scared by some bad mood.

Victor and Sergey are on edge the whole evening, and we happily bitch at each other and fight over nonsense, untill all the others are gone. Then, suddenly, Viktor gets all serious. "Can I ask a favour, Her-minne?" And the screaming in my head stops in the face of a task. Whatever it is, just gimme!

We cast a Muffilato and an Intruder-Alert. That way, the boys are comfortable enough around me to hold hands. Stupid society, they are so damn cute together! "Sure, what is it?"

"Karkaroff keeps telling me to ask out partner... for the Yule Ball." He presses Sergey's hand. His boyfriend bites his lip and looks away. "Since I cannot go with who I want, and same for you, would you mind? I think, Slytherin leave you alone after that, too. It would be a pleasure to go dancing vith you."

"Is that... okay for you, Sergey? I mean of course it is not, it is horrible that you two have to lie like that, and actually, if you two consider a little rebellion I'm all in." Now, they both grin.

"Now that would be some scandal... but no. Danger for the families. Dangerous in Durmstrang. Not for me," Viktor sighs "I am a star. But for Sergey. Don't worry, Herr-minne, we are not in school always. Only a few years more."

Sergey nods. "Yes. Don't vorry to hurt me, it is the best solution. Viktor goes with our little Sestra, all is vell."

All is very far from being well. But still, maybe it's for the best, for now. I am in no position to argue with Viktor and Sergey about their own safety, and it would be endlessly arrogant to even consider it. So I swallow my rage down and focus on the thing I can actually do for my friends. "Then, of course, thank you. Also, even tough he presses you into it, it will piss off Karkarov, since I'm close to Harry... It's basically fraternizing!" I can't keep from giggling.

"He he... piss off Karkaroff... Yeah." Now, Sergey's smile looks less fake. It starts to feel more like a prank than world's most awkward date.

Only when I am about to leave the library, I understand that _I_ am about to experience a social revolution. Me, the muggleborn bookworm that never sparked any romantic attraction in anyone, is going to the damn Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. I start to smile, and then to grin, and my steps become lighter until I am almost jumping. Not the revolution I would have wished for Viktor, but still quite an eye-opener!

Of course now, that I finally was able to throw him out of my head for a while, I run into Severus. Literally. I almost bump into to him right outside the library. He avoids the collision with an elegant, quick move to the side. "Detention, Granger," he says without interrupting his brisk pace down the corridor.

"Always a pleasure, sir," I mumble to myself, but exuberance makes me louder than anticipated.

"More detention, Granger!" he calls over his shoulder. Now that I get at least two more hours of brewing with Severus, my spirits are more than high as I enter the Common Room.

"Hermione, you are blushing!" Ginny spots me and is as sensitive about these matters as her brothers are, but Parvati immediately grabs my hand and pulls me into our dorm. The unavoidable Lavender follows right after. Since I consider the ball as not that important, the secret doesn't mean much to me, but it is a very good chance to test Pavs and Lavs secrecy. "What is it, Hermione? You look really happy," Parvati asks. At least she isn't squealing. Yet. "I got asked out to the Yule Ball by Viktor Krum in the library," I blurt out and keep the rest to me.

"Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, OH MERLIN!" they squeal in unisono and jump around me. Looks like suddenly I am interesting again. But I do my best to swallow the bitterness and try again for female friendship. For a few minutes we jump together, laughing and squeaking, untill we are out of air and fall onto Lavenders' bed.

"This is it, Hermione!" Parvati is so excited I almost wish he had asked her instead. "This is it, the most important night of your entire life! Or at least, so far!"

And in that moment I realize how far apart away we truly are from each other. She is really happy for me, and I appreciate that, but this will definitely not be the most important night of my entire life so far. That title is taken; even though events like fighting the teacher's maze, saving an innocent man from the Dementors, and outrunning a storm to dance with a werewolf compete for that title. But it would be unfair to hold that against her. It is just so that "important" has a completely different meaning to each of us, that our lives, even though set in the almost same circumstances, went into completely different directions.

And I am not like them, even tough I wish with all my heart I could just be that girl I was for some precious minutes - jumping, laughing, talking hair and robes and boys. But the silence of the Room of Hidden Things is still around me, and my voice gets lost in the middle of the conversation, and the stormy wind is still in my face, just as the werewolf's howling still shakes my bones.

This realization somehow separates me from them again, but not just them - everyone. When I sit in the common room and laugh and work with the others, it feels like lying to them. I am pretending to be a person that isn't there any more. This is why it annoys me so much that both Ron and Harry only see me as a last resort - it is hard enough to become a PERSON again, let alone a woman, without the constant reminder from everyone else that I am not seen as such. But maybe that is what being an adult really means: Finding out who you are, not through anyone or despite anyone other than yourself. And I am ready to find out.

And this now is why, when Pav and Lav start a serious business meeting over my dress, hair and make-up, I am all in. I let them order huge masses of dress robes per owl and try them on without complaining, I let them do and re-do and over-do my hair for hours, and I sit and stare in awe as they discuss cushion charms for high heels and belly-away-glamours and skin tone changers ("Just a little darker, as contrast for the eye shadow!") and many other things I have never heard of. These two could go undercover in like five minutes.

When the big night finally comes, they do their work with the precision of professionals, working together on me and over my head as if I was a doll. Once done, they leave me alone with the mirror for a few moments.

The girl in there is hardly recognizable. She is older, sharper, and way more beautiful than she should be. Absent-mindedly I touch the glass. There is an old wizard fairytale about your reflection protecting you from entering a world of too many horrors to bear. Tricking this protection is the wizard origin story of Alice through the Looking Glass, who wandered worlds to discover her own heart. Of course, as in every kid's story with a morale, she dies in the end.

I shake my head and do my best to get myself together. As much as I worry about the event, Viktor and Sergey need me there, and Harry and Ron probably too. I am not free to wander mirrors. Once I leave the common room, meet my date at the stairs and take his arm, I can literally see jaws drop around me. Not even Malfoy has something mean to say right now, which is pretty unusual. Hope he doesn't choke. Or maybe just a little.

Viktor turns and twirls me on the dance floor, this boy knows how to move. He explains that dancing is almost like flying, patterns and clusters. My poor Harry hasn't found that one out yet, I guess. But once he has recognized me (it hurt a bit how long that took - I only wear a different robe and hairdo than usual!) he smiles and gives me a thumbs-up. Ron, on the other hand, goes down the full immaturity road. Fraternizing with the enemy, Viktor using me to get to Harry, and so on. everything we had planned out so nicely for Karkaroff comes back to me through one of my so-called best friends. I get that he is jealous, and before the Room of Hidden Things I would have felt flattered (and angry), but now, with the growing distance between me and everything and everyone, it somehow only makes me sad.

Sad for our friendship, and sad that he is so blind... Is it possible to not notice how often Viktor and Sergey lock eyes, their casual touches, tiny smiles, the comfort in each other's presence? After Ron's outburst, I don't want to stay with them any longer, even though Harry throws me sympathetic glares.

When Viktor returns to us, I grab the drink from his hand and pull him over to his Durmstrang friends. I down the drink in one, and the butterbeer fills me with fake warmth. The next formal dance starts, a kind of waltz where you change partners in the middle. After our arrangement for tonight had been made, one of the few Durmstrang girls talked to me about a little surprise for the boys. Just as planned I manage to end up in the wrong position for the partner change, and instead of Sergey, I end up with the girl.

Anna looks just enough like Pansy to shock off the pants from Draco for a second when she throws herself in my arms and goes as far as tango-wrapping her leg around me (I'm not much of a dancer, so I do my best to just not let her fall, which works) while the boys share a dance that is just enough overacted to be seen as a joke. The rest of the Durmstrang crew cheers, and for a split second I see a young and carefree Sirius dancing with James in the common room to cheer up a worn, young Moony curled up on a red couch. A thought that immediately leads to red eyes in the dark, and I almost lose my grip on Anna, who saves it to a pirouette and a sarcastic bow. We laugh, and no one notices that my laughter is pressed, or so I thought. With beaming eyes Viktor puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls Sergey to his other side, just as I walk around with the boys when they're not idiots, while Anna jumps back to her real date after playfully winking at me. As innocent friends having fun we all go back to the buffet. My knees are a little weak, but Viktor murmurs "I've got you, little Sestra," and I feel a real warmth inside.

Karkaroff passes by, lips a small line and hand pressed on his left forearm, and throws me a dagger stare.

Viktor pulls me closer and lets go of Sergey. I lean on him and give him a wide bright smile. "It vorks," he whispers to me.

"Yeah, see how pale he is?" Karkaroff struts away with long steps, grabs Severus from the corner where he is sulking, and pulls him out. Is he going to complain about me? Where does he know Severus from?

Pale. Grips his forearm. Talks to Severus. Fuck. I'm stupid. When I glance back to my friends Harry is gone. He has an almost infallible feeling for this kind of shit. Should I follow them too? But what could I do?

"You look sad behind that smile, Her-minne. I am sorry when you haff troubles with your friends because of me."

"Don't worry, really. I've had a lot of fun. They are just..."

"Children."

"Yes."

"And you are not. I haff seen you get older when the day is done. But I don't think you take de-age because... you haff to re-do years. You are too smart. You haff good reasons, yes?"

"You Durmstrangs see everything, right?" I sigh and lean on him for a moment. He hugs me gently. His arms are strong and he smells good, Serge is a lucky man. They both are, apart from the stupid society problems. They are good for each other. Serge grounds him, has his back, jokes with him, never takes any bullshit or excuses. I want that for me. What they have. I want to be seen the way Serge sees Viktor and Viktor sees Serge. "I'm a seeker. That is my profession," he jokes. "You tell us when you need help, Her-minne, yes? We are all here for you." His serious tone, the gentle hug, the exciting day, the ever-overwhelming surroundings take their tribute at last- and suddenly I am close to tears.

Viktor releases me at once and nods gently. He gets it. Relieved that my friend won't be hurt I disappear in the crowd, which is shockingly easy considering the fact that everyone stared at me just moments ago, but teenagers always return their attention to themselves quickly.

When I am finally in the gardens, sitting on top of an empty carriage with my Disillusionment on, I can breathe again. But only for like two minutes. Then, I see Severus coming my way with his long steps, followed by Karkaroff. I duck, even though I'm invisible. Looks as if I regained my reflexes after all. "It's happening again, like before, and soon neither you nor anyone else will be able to deny it." I overhear.

"I've told you already, Igor, I see no reason to discuss it," Severus blocks. Then, he notices that one carriage is definitely occupied and blasts the door open with his wand, shooing out the students. " Ten points from Hufflepuff, Fawcett, and the same from Ravenclaw, Stebbins."

When the students are gone, they keep fighting about weather or not this is a sign, and finally Karkaroff accuses Severus of being scared.

"I have nothing to be scared of, Igor. Can you say the same?" Severus threatens. There is a noise behind them (Harry, probably) and Karkaroff disappears into the night. Severus looks around, his concealed face pale in the darkness. I only start to understand what he feels when starts to hurry towards the library. He is looking for shelter. He is scared.

I transfigure my bracelet back to my board and follow. I don't want to leave him alone right now. I don't want to be alone right now.

When I hide in the darkness between shelves, I have no idea what is going to happen next. Shall I return as Whisper? Can I do that? Is it fair to do that? Does he even want it back, the bodiless spirit he talked to as a kid?

» _I could never be scared of you, Whisper. Never. I trust you. You're the last thing here I can trust_.« Some of his last words to me. But I left him without an explanation. He probably hates me now. Or doesn't he? Does he want to know who I am? What happened? Does he even remember? Does he want to remember? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?!

***

Hi everyone! I am absolutely overwhelmed by the attention my little story is getting, all these klicks and kudos and lovely comments <3 it is truly amazing to get feedback, since I only started to write this thing to hide from reality from time to time, and English is not my native language.

Usually I don't believe in "speaking for the story" but apparently in fanficition this is a thing, so here it comes: I hope the pace in which the story is moving is convincing, and that all left-outs and white spots on the map will wrap up nicely in the end. Of course the temptation of following each and every chapter written by JK The Great is pretty huge, so I am trying to balance indulging in her work and telling my own story at the same time.

Also, a word concerning the adults in this story: Looking back to the HP books from a twenty-something perspective, they were all kind of shady? I still love them as characters, though. Especially Dumbledore, who could plot your murder while dancing a jig in line with enchanted rubber ducks, is my problematic fave until the very end. I just can't bash him, and Hermione neither, apparently. I hope everyone is ok with that ;)

Anyway, feel very welcome to share your thoughts with me, ask questions, drop opinions, or just say hi.

 


	13. So we could rave on, darling, you and I

 

He stands in front of the window, leaning heavily on his hands. When he finally speaks, I am literally frozen in shock, but what he says then almost nakes me fall of my board.

"You know," he says softly, and the ultimate fear if being detected runs through my body like burning lava, "in nights like these I wonder if you have ever really existed. A whisper in the library, choosing me, of all people, to talk to. What are the odds? I probably did make it up after all."

I dare not move nor breathe, just hover there, too much in a shock to even think.

But he is not done yet.

"Actually, I don't really care. What is real in the end? I spent my life in a magic castle, I talk to ghosts everyday, but the ghosts that haunt me are not here any more. I just would have liked to hear what you'd have to say to all the recent events." And he tilts his head and listens to a silence that is as heavy as the darkness. He sighs.

_So now you know, H._

Yes. Now I know. And I am making a choice, and hope this is what being an adult means: Making a choice and then standing up for the consequences.

"I am here, Severus. And I am sorry." He turns around so fast his contours almost fade, wand raised, highly alerted, all senses at the edge, the wistful moment gone.

"Who is there? Show yourself! If this is a joke, you will absolutely regret every decision in your miserable life that led you to this point, I. Can. Promise. You." Unsaid spells fire in every direction. Again, only on the ground. No one ever looks up.

Now it is too late to back out. "No. Not a joke ... I am who you know as Whisper. I was dragged away after the horrible night in the hospital in 1976, but I am back."

He pierces the darkness around me. I wait, ready to accept whatever is coming.

"Whisper. This can't be."

"It is, Baby Snake. It is. What proof do you need?"

Apparently, none. Even for Severus Snape there is a _too much_ , and now here we are. I see his cover fail, his concealed mask break. He covers his mouth with his hand and closes his eyes, throws back his head like a drowning man reaching for the surface.

And I am so, so sorry, so incredibly sorry. Why have I come? What am I doing here? Why am I doing this to us both? Why am I so selfish? But now I have to go through with it.

"You...why now? I..." He is torn between staying and leaving, I can see it twitch in his face. Maybe he will just storm out, or blow off the whole fucking library. Or break down and cry. But he keeps talking. "Whisper. I deserve to know what happened. Who you are. You... tell me. Now."

It's a command as much as a plea. Who am I to refuse a pleading man? "If you wish you will know the truth." And I believe every word. But I am sick of this secrecy. Humans are not made to be invisible voices. We are made to see each other, hold each other, and fill each other with warmth. There are things beyond words that make us human. But still. It could be the wrong decision. "The truth is profane. You will be disappointed. Betrayed. Hate me," I warn.

"Never." He has said that before. A lifetime ago. Slowly I sink to the ground on my board, and slowly, as softly as I can, I let the Disillusionment fade. I feel it fall down layer by layer, like silk, untill my periwinkle blue dress shines in the moonlight, untill I can see the strands of hair that escaped the chignon from the corners of my eyes, untill I am a ghost no more.

I close my eyes. I can't stand to see his pain any more, I don't want to see how it will turn into hate. "I had a Time-Turner accident. Dumbledore made me hide. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, but..." My voice is still my whisper voice, then it leaves me for good. I can only stand there, wordlessly, with trembling lips, tears streaming down my cheeks as I balance my whole fragile world on the edge of a knife with bare feet.

Then, I hear him move. I hear how he comes closer, closer, untill I feel hands on my shaking shoulders. A touch like a feather, giving me every chance to get away, a touch that does not believe it is welcome. I do not move, but my shoulders sink down as I relax. He hugs me, carefully, slowly, not even increasing his grip when I finally lean against him.

  


Hours pass like seconds. We fall into our old conversation style easily, as simple as people that wandered together find a rhythm of step when they see each other again. It is honesty, ideas, mixed with puns and spikes. And questions. So many questions.

"Why did you pick me to speak to? Ive been wondering for years. Tea?" He is leaning in his former reading book in adequate distance to me, I am sitting on the hover board and let my bare feet swing in the air. The elegant shoes lay forgotten on the ground.

"Yes, thank you." He tips with his wand against a nearby table, and soon after a tea tray and two mugs appear. The house elves know about the hideout, apparently. Or at least one of them, still taking care of Master Nose.

"Has it's perks, being a Professor," I say, eyeing the tray.

"No amount of tea can make up for Longbottom." I throw him an angry glare and get a raised eyebrow in return. I have never imagined it to be that easy, so comfortable, to spent time with someone else. Even with the boys I can never be myself like that, I have to tone down my sometimes wildly jumping thoughts to not lose them on the way, and to get their attention at all I have to shriek more often than I'd like to. They are so damn oblivious sometimes.

But Severus, my Severus, is not. After the Longest Hug In Human History (tm), that we broke up at the same moment just for the record, it is as if we have only been apart for a day. It is so frigging easy to talk to him, to joke, to speak my mind, as if I was still protected by layers and layers of invisibility spells.

_Almost like coming home._

Uh, shut it, reason. That's not even a reasonable thing to say. This is still crazy. He pours the tea, and I accio the cup to me. "Lazy."

"Resourceful. And to your question... I guess I just related to you. I used to hide in here as well. Well, actually I still do that. A lot." I smile in my tea and take a careful sip. "I'm glad you're not... I was afraid... it felt like lying."

He shrugs. "I may have hated you as a teenager. But I am an adult. You should have never been in that situation in the first place. Did our dearloved leader apologize for putting you in solitary confinement?"

"Yes. And... to you? For the incident?"

"Yes. Years after, when I had been his spy for years. He tumbled on it in his Pensieve and only then realized how horrible it truly was. I guess when you are brilliant like him, a werewolf isn't much of an opponent, even for a student." I remember hot breath and red eyes in the storm and shiver.

"It was you in the Shack back then, I guess?" I nod. "For years I thought it was maybe spontaneous magic from my side, but the flying board of yours explains it. You shouldn't have done that."

"I should have, I am glad I have, and I would gladly do it again."

"Pathetic Gryffindor."

"Hello kettle, I'm pot."

"You call me pathetic?"

"Ehm... » _I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper dea_ th«," I quote, completely with robe whooshing and dagger stare. Well, as much as my dress is woosh-able.

Now, he stares at me, and to my endless embarrassment I feel myself blush. But I don't break eye contact, and therefore I witness the full extend of the miracle: Professor Severus Snape laughs. Not a mean, triumphant, aloof laugh. No, an amused, almost happy snort, changing his whole face to a boy I used to know, changing a blossom to a fish.

I grin back. It is good to have a visible face again. Really good. "So much for that. What's a Pensieve?"

"You don't know, oh Ancient Magical Being?"

"Stuff it, Baby Snake." We grin at each other. Severus, now relaxed, leans back against the wall. I put my feet on the board, carefully arrange my robe, and rest my arms on my knees and my head in my arms. "I've missed that," I admit.

"Not as long as I have."

"I am sorry. I really am."

"You are repeating yourself. I also don't blame you. Not even Albus. Back then, every wrong step would have meant immediate danger, even death."

"It is coming back, isn't it? This kind of... situation. War. _He_ is coming back."

"I think so, yes. Everything points to it. Are you scared?"

"I think only an idiot wouldn't be. But I'm not... petrified. Pun intended. He came back too often to think that it won't happen again, you know? But our side isn't that bad, either."

"You are convinced of my allegiance?"

"I was from the beginning. I've read everything about Death Eaters. You're just not the type."

He snorts. "Then you're the only one who ever thought that. How comes?"

Once again quotes save the day. " _Well, if he was one of the enemy, he would look fairer and feel fouler._ "

"Tolkien? My, nerd, keep the clichés down, will you? And don't get your facts wrong. I was a Death Eater. A real, sworn, evil Death Eater, long before I considered questioning that."

I bite my lip, but I have to say it: "You told me about your reasons, remember? And I think there were more."

"After the incident? I was a boy back then. People change."

"I have this theory that they... well, they don't. Not really, I mean. Their motives stay the same, only their ways to achieve them change."

"That is a little bit much cynism."

"Pot? Kettle? We keep having the same conversation." He grins at that, but somewhat - wistfully? What did I do now? Automatically I start to babble: "N-not that I complain. At least we are having conversations again. It was hard not talking to you. Not like this, I mean. Not as just some nerve-wrecking student. I, erm, I guess we need a plan. When we... if you want to keep talking to me."

I really have to force myself to press these words out. I have never been the type to beg for attention. Not after the playground incident.

He throws his hair back. "I am not stupid enough to give up the advantage of an invisible friend that is so _noble_ to jump between me and a werewolf."

It is meant sarcastic, but all I hear is _friend friend friend friend friend friend friend friend friend..._

"I guess you can pull that off. Playing mean in public, I mean." I suggest.

"Oh, I am not playing, not at all. That's my very own character."

"Yeah, sure, it is. But please come up with something better than know-it-all. It's getting old."

"Then stop being one."

"Ah, you know, that's my very own character."

He sips tea. "Dolor hic tibi proderit olim."

"And now to something completely different?" Sometimes, you just need Monty Python. But then I scratch my remaining school Latin together. "One day this pain makes sense to you? That's a summary of your teaching?" I smile at this to take out the sting. Did I mention that I love having a visible face again?

"No. Think."

"The password to Narnia?" I say the first thing that comes to my mind. He nods, and my smile turns so huge the edges of my lips almost touch at the back of my head. "Meet you there, then. I have to go now. It is already dawning, and I am screwed if McGonagall finds me here somehow."

"I give you a headstart." I collect my shoes, step up on the board, and aware of the black eyes still looking at me, pull the Disillusionment around me like a coat.

"Whisper?"

"Yes?"

"You are aware that this is madness, and not good for you, and completely inappropriate, right?"

"Yes." I hover out, and maybe it is magic that is carrying me, or maybe just the balloon that is my light, light heart. I fall asleep that night with a smile on my face. I took a risk and it was worth it, for once something worked out just fine, and maybe things will start to fall into place now just like that. Everything seems possible, suddenly.

Days come. Days go. When I wake up in the morning, the knot in my stomach isn't really there any more. Harry survived the dragon. He and Ron talk again. Gryffindor doesn't hate us for now. Severus knows about Whisper and doesn't hate me either. It is Christmas.

It is December 31, and I just stay snuggling in bed, even though I wake up early. Crooks is purring next to me, and snow falls silently. With a wave of wand I turn on my radio. It's the wizard edition, of course, and the music can only be heard in between my four poster bed, so I don't disturb the other girls. I still can't stand silence. The moderating duo chatters along, touches the subject of the tournament, but mostly gossips about wizard prominence. The Wyrd Sisters are about to break up (again) and there is a floo hotline for desperate teen witches, some Quidditch stars were caught cheating with sticking charms on their fingers (gasp!) and Fudge had a speech about trust and faith in each other around Christmas (a-ha).

I wonder what snide remark Severus has for that, when something scratches my window. It says a lot about the hard work I put in not being jumpy that I realize it is an owl with a letter immediately after I hex it into a leech. Pretty embarrassed I turn it back (it tries to bite me and I think I deserve that, the poor thing is still slightly green) and take the note.

_23:55 Astronomy Tower? S._

People talk a lot about butterflies in their stomach. The creature in my stomach is absolutely no butterfly. It's more like Mothra the Japanese Radiation Super Moth.

"!" I say to the owl. It tilts it's head and loks somewhat aloof, reminding me of it's master. It looks a little like him, though. I do hope he isn't an animagus, or I'll never hear the end of the leech thing.

"Hermione?" Parvati's head appears behind the pillow fort she had built around herself to keep the imaginative cold out (or just to secretly snuggle with all the colorful pillows her grandma made for her, even though no one would judge her if she just admitted that). "Just make the cross at 'girlfriend' and close the damn window."

"Uh, sorry?"

"The little letters in primary school. Want to be my friend or girlfriend?" Parvati clarifies.

"I... never got those..."

"Ow, err... sorry. I just assumed. Shouldn't do that. Well, enjoy it now, but keep the cold out, will you? Or is it about Weasley?"

"I can assure you it is not about Weasley." What does Ron even have to do with it? Just to prove a point I critter "Yes" on the parchment, and shush the owl away. I jump back to bed and put my ice-cold feet under my quilt. Crooks glances at me, a knowing cat-grin on his orange face. Then, a yellow silk pillow flies in my direction, and bounces off the protection around my bed. "Don't be a spoilsport and put that down, will you?"

With an inner sigh I release my bed from the Protego, the music leaks out, and I accept a pillow in the face. The things I do for socializing. A second one comes flying, and I throw it back. Crooks jumps off and teeters away, indignant. Somehow, that makes me laugh.

"Lav, get up, Bossbabe got a Friend or Girlfriend!" A blue pillow hits Lavender and she jumps to attention.

"Awwwwww! I thought it was all settled with you and Krum, and you plan for babies with curly hair and long crooked noses?"

"His nose has been broken, that's not going to be inherited. Our babies will be smart and beautiful," I giggle, not to mention imaginary.

"Whatever you say, bookworm. So how about that thing with a man's nose and -" Another pillow sails around, the radio goes for an uptone muggle tune about _Oh, how Johnny can love_ from the fifties, feathers fly and girls shriek, we run around the beds and slidder in thick woolen christmas socks, wands come out and the pillows chase us by themselves while our hair changes to high waves in radiant colors, and suddenly life is great, and really not silent at all.

When Ginny comes in, she immediately gets a pillow in the face, but years of living with Fred and George made her quick: She adds snowballs to the colorful battle, the chaos increases and the shrieks become shriller. When we finally collapse on Parvati's bed, laughing, the Room of Hidden Things is far, far away.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but is there a reason...?" I finally manage to get out.

"Well, erm..." Ginny looks embarrassed, and suddenly the big happy fluffy moth in my stomach becomes still. But Ginny has never been the one to choke on her words. "Mum invited Harry to the Burrow for New Year. Ron comes of course, and I do, and it's not that we don't like you, and you are always with the boys, but she it is a family thing and she doesn't know if you really... ?"

The moth shrinks a little more (so, the awkward third friend is not invited, okay) but on the other hand I am pretty relieved. That makes it easier to sneak out at midnight, and Harry (and Ron, even though I'm still mad at him) won't be hurt or worried.

"Dont worry, Gin. I am currently mad at your brother, and also I've got plans. Kind of."

"You sure? Ron's an idiot, and mum..."

"Yes. I am sure. And I think it's nice for Harry to be the only invited guest, too, he needs a little fussing over right now from a mum." Ginny nods, and jumps off to meet with Luna. I wonder if she still has a crush on Harry. Sometimes she looks sad when she thinks no one is watching. But that could also still be her trying to cope with the whole diary thing. I wish I could talk to her about the time travel, and exchange strategies, but it is not allowed. And for once I can stand behind that rule. It is quite possible that she would just lose her calm about that.

Now all that is left to do is reassuring Harry that yes, he is supposed to enjoy himself without me, and no, I am not mad at him, glare at Ronald out of principle, and set an alibi date with Viktor in the library, where he will spent New Year's eve with Serge while the others distract Karkaroff. And by distract I mean get him so shitfaced drunk that he doesn't notice them slipping away. Considering the state the man is in, that won't be too hard.

Viktor thinks I spent a quiet night alone with daydreams about my inappropriate teacher crush, and feels a little sympathy, but thankfully not enough to insist on me third-wheeling their New Year. Once I'm done and free for the night, Mothra awakes and with her the panic. My hair is a mess. I am a mess. I am a 17-years-old child, far from any extraordinary field witch I might even think about competing with. What am I even doing?

_You are pathetic. You've been whining for months about speaking to him and now you wet your knickers?_

The voice is right. It's annoying. I don't need to be scared. It was his idea, I'm not even clingy. Two friends, meeting in a not-secret spot for old time's sake. No need to flip or lose my nerves or change anything. Parvati peeks around my curtain, and sees me face-forwards in my pillow. "Hermione, do you want help with your hair?"

"Oh thank God, Merlin and the Greek Pantheon, yes." But once I am on the tower, chignon in place and the dark night around me, and Severus is there, I just feel calm. Calm, happy, safe. He makes an excellent snide remark about Fudge's speech, I laugh about it, we watch the Durmstrang ship gently moving on the black lake, and Professor Flitwick is outdoing himself with the fireworks.

It is brilliant, I snuggle in the blanket I was smart enough to bring, and Severus murmurs something about this being "better than last year."

"What did you do last year?"

"Drinking."

"Oh."

"You're too young. You don't understand."

"Yes, because only very old, old, _old_ people know anything about pain. Or crushing responsibilities. Or worries."

"What kind of crushing responsibility do you have, pray tell, oh ancient magical being?"

"Mostly I'm trying to keep Harry Potter from doing anything stupid, or from dying, once he did anything stupid." The look of hardly hidden disdain, melted with grumpy respect that starts to appear on his face is pretty damn satisfying.

"I would absolutely offer you a drink now, if it weren't inadequate."

"Gesture is appreciated."

"You don't have to do that."

"Appreciate the gesture?"

"Don't be daft on purpose. Meet."

"I said yes, didn't I?"

There is a little silence. Then, there it is: "Why?"

And he doesn't mean just this now. It is a general why. "Because I missed my friend. That's also why I came to the library." We haven't spoken since, and now that worries me.

"You are aware that the boy you knew is dead?"

Ouch. That one hit home. All my fears in one sentence, thank you. But that's no reason to give up yet. "Are we being edgy, Baby Snake?"

"Be serious."

"It takes two to be serious."

"Don't quote Cummings at me, and if you do, kindly refrain from undermining the quotation context like an ignoramus maximus."

"Gotcha. Muggle poet. And Tolkien, at the ball. The boy is still there." I am smirking, and he sighs.

"I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"But you did, and I am glad you did, and I know that you did it just to try to shush me away now - I'm not stupid, okay? - but I don't want to leave. I won't. So just accept it." I give my best McGonagall-no-nonsense-voice with that.

"Pathetic Gryffindor."

"Deal with it."

"I will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

There is a small silence. Then, with both of us stubbornly not looking at each other (only from the corner of our eyes) and with arms crossed, we both smile.

_These are probably going to be your wedding vows one day, you nerds._

I allow myself to imagine this in detail, and giggle, and ignore his questioning look. But the image gets lost when reality takes over. We stand there in comfortable silence, as the magical fireworks illuminate the whole sky, and the old year runs out like sand through my fingers.

After that encounter, our friendship falls into place easily, as if we just had to get back to the tracks. I start my nightly rounds in the empty library again, only that it isn't empty any more. We share a few sentences, or sometimes just a tea and a silence, then I hover on. Sometimes we cross paths in the hallways, too, and he knows I am there. When I can get away I sneak into the secret chamber, and there, too, everything is so familiar.

We talk, sometimes he reads me the funniest exam answers he found during grading, sometimes I talk myself into rage about small idiocies, and Rita Skeeter (finally someone I can hate without hesitation). After remembering my help with his spell-design, he includes me in his latest work: A modification of Obliviate, that does not erase memories, but bans them behind a kind of mind-wall where they cannot be remembered. Like this, people can be obliviated of special memories only without damage, and a safe return ticket.

I suspect that it has to do something with the Longbottoms, but I don't ask. We never even brush the big themes. It is an unspoken agreement. Science, quotes, slowly growing inside jokes, ongoings of the castle, never more. And of course absolutely no touches. Our comfort zones are so huge I sometimes wonder that they even fit into the same room.

Yet I really enjoy the banter, far away from heavy responsibility, in what we know can only be a small time window while the storm is slowly coming.

Sometimes I wonder if that is smart. Sometimes I want to know what he thinks about every single thing in the whole world, and I am scared that I will run out of time before I can even start to get to know adult Severus the way I want to, before I can find out what is behind the bitterness and biting sarcasm. But considering my state before the Jule Ball, this is so, so much better than everything I thought I could have, and I treat whatever is growing there with utmost care. Spring is coming, and my step is light, and the world is full of colors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some big events happening! Thank you all for the lovely comments and the kudos, I am still amazed by all the attention :)
> 
> I'm still sticking with the New-Year headcanon, and I also think that Harry would of course be invited to the Burrow. The Weasleys didn't exclude Hermione on purpose, since she usually spends time with her family over the holidays. Also, it gave a nice stage to see our favourite nerds dance around each other once more...


	14. until the stars tick out a lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for my long silence. Now you'll get two chapters in a row. And they are not the rainbow ones.  
> To say it clear: *Trigger-Alert!* Hermione is being triggered by recent events and has to experience flashbacks of bullying, neglect and self hate, and general psychological suffering coming with it. Descriptions are from experience. If you are sensitive to such content, skip to the three stars: *** there will be a two sentence summary, and then the aftermath dealing. Stay safe friends <3

 

 

I think that, despite what my dad said, finding out that our idols are human isn't the hardest thing you can do. It is way, way, way more disturbing to find out that you can stand something that an adult you confided in cannot stand.

It needed Dumbledore and the three of us to get Hagrid out of his misery after that miserable article and some hate mail, and now I sit here, the marks of the Bubotuber pus slowly fading, and I feel – nothing. No. Nothing is the wrong word. I feel unimpressed. Slightly annoyed. Irritated by people's stupidity. But I am not hurt. Not sad. Not really angry. Not even shocked at this point. Maybe Hagrid's big heart is too soft, in the end. Maybe I am becoming too hard.

Madam Pomfrey comes back from wherever she was to rub more essence of Dittany on my ever-itching skin. I am stronger than adults I know. It's weird. It is... wrong. It is like finding out all over again that your primary school teacher doesn't have all the answers, and doesn't want to bother with every "why".

_Not that it hasn't happened before. Remember the teachers maze?_

Still. This was meant to be solved, but the situation now is - wait - what? What? Why? What kind of protection is meant to be solved by a bunch of kids? Was this all a test? A test that resulted in Harry killing a man with his bare hands in the end? What kind of... thing... happened there? And why did I never question it before? And the teachers, their riddles and tasks, they were easy, compared to what I know they can do, what I _knew_ they can do back then.

Something in my mind prickles. I don't want to think about that. It makes anxiety, that well-known beast, roar in my stomach, and makes me shiver. But I have to... I occlude the fear away. By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked...

And they knew. They _knew_ . The adults knew and _let it be_. Just as always, just as...

_No, stop, don't. Don't go any further. Wall!_

"Miss Granger? Dear, are you all right?"

"Sorry, Ma'am. I was just thinking..." I go for the brave smile. Stronger than some adults. The lion roars.

"Poor kid. Don't let them get to you.” The sentence hangs in the air in between us, until it is huge and heavy and terrible. I watch it grow, and my stomach flutters. And suddenly, even though I was so collected a moment before, it is all there. Falling down from a climbing frame, falling, falling, landing hard. Later at the doctor's with my parents, bruises and broken ribs and the feeling of falling. No consequences for them. It was an accident, that's all, a prank gone wrong Mrs. Granger, they are just kids. Don't let it get to you, Hermione, you want to make up with your peers, right?

And my mom nodding and saying kind words about forgiveness to me, words that never reached me, because in my head I was still falling, falling, falling. Always I am falling, frozen in shock once I lose grip. Always petrified, turning to stone when I really shouldn't.

There is always something about my studies and my work and my teeth, and that my skin is dark compared to white and light compared to brown, and I can never tell that part because my dad would go mad, with grandma being beaten up in Bristol in the 60's. There is always something that makes me odd, not like them, not one of us. So I listen to adults telling me that it's not personal, that I am intimidating to my peers and that people fear what they don't understand, as if that makes it any better, as if it is slightly my fault for being different.

And Hogwarts isn't really better. I am still intimidating. Still the oddball. Still the aim for people too unsatisfied with their own lives to let someone else be. They seem to need that, something different that makes them "us". Twenty years ago, now, muggle, wizard. Same play, different stage, that's all.

"Why did you pick a fight with that Skeeter woman, girl?”, Madam Pomfrey asks me curtly. And just like that something in me breaks, and I explode. Literally. Accidental magic hadn't been a thing ever since I got my wand, but right now the night-stand erupts into bluebell flames, and the potions in the phials don't take that well. They splinter into the tiniest pieces.

"I am to blame if a so-called professional journalist let's off steam by lashing out at a school kid? Are you serious? I mean I know I picked this fight when I called her out for what she did to your college Hagrid, who was about to quit a career he really loves because of our great wizard society's racism by the way, and actually I am beyond caring now, but maybe you and the whole rest of the teaching body should take a curse on how to talk to victims of bullying in the foreseeable future.”

My voice got only slightly shrieking this time, I managed to keep my tone down and my words pointy like needles (no, it is not a Snape imitation at all, thank you very much), and I know my eyes are burning. I see it when I accidentally catch my reflection in the glass of the med cabinet behind her. My face is harder than I have ever seen it before.

Madam Pomfrey, full of adult outrage about being called on her bullshit, opens her mouth, but I am done with that for now. “If you excuse me now, I have stuff to do.” And, with a sudden outburst of wilfulness, I add what I wanted to say to my student counsellor years ago: “I have learned to pick my battles already, and I am picking them all.”

With that I storm out, just in the right moment before the treachery tears are coming. My skin hurts and it itches. Damn hate mail. Damn pus. Damn idiots that believe everything. Damn Skeeter.

Suddenly I cannot stand being de-aged any longer. My tie chokes me, and the fabrics of the school uniform itch terribly, and my bra straps seem to cut centimetre deep into my shoulders, and my hair hurts at the roots.

 _Beaver teeth, beaver teeth... Looks like beavers really can't fly... I don't see a difference... you're next, mudbloods... the family, feet in the air at the Quidditch World Cup..._ wait, was that Levicorpus? Was he there? No, impossible...

The walls of the castle come closer, closer, and the sun through the window is unbearable, and it is so cold suddenly. Peeves is laughing, laughing, and the children are laughing, and the whole of Gryffindor doesn't talk to us, ignores me to a point where I am not sure if I really said something or not, first year, and second year - Once again I stand in the middle of a corridor, mind racing, heartbeat so loud in my ears I cannot hear anything, _hands cold and a lump in my throat, the damn tie chocking me, choking me, locked in the ball shed in the PE hall, dark and the walls too close and the silence after the class left, locked in my own body while the snake is out to kill people, kill Harry, always kill Harry, falling, falling, falling, feet of the ground, feet in the air, and the horrible detachment that comes with that, beaver teeth, no wonder she doesn't have any friends, every step I take is watched every word I say is mocked, they are waiting for a mistake, any mistake to laugh at, anything to prove I am still odd and they are in the right with what they do, everyone always, no one there, the adults let it happen, it's nothing, just kids, don't let them get to you..._

Don't let them get to you - shoving the blame to the victim, how can they? McGonagall let Umbridge curse me into the past, she just let her, and the weeks in the silence, so loud in my ears,

_watching, waiting, watching, losing the feeling of my own body, oh if I could only lose it now, it HURTS, as if the skin isn't even there, the blouse is on the pure flesh, piles and piles of crap around me, crap in my mind, crap in my head, the bones of my skull pressing into my brain, it hurts it hurts it hurts_

I feel how I lose my focus completely, even over the time sand bound in my tattoo. It breaks free and burns under my skin, I cannot get away from that either, nowhere to go, no help, nowhere, Dumbledore knew about the dead unicorns and still left us alone, he knew about the werewolf incident and just let it be, oh God the werewolf, I almost didn't make it, hot breath and red eyes, I need to get away, I NEED TO GET AWAY;

hide, but where, I cannot fly like this, the dorm is always full, I am never alone, I AM NEVER ALONE I WAS ALONE SO LONG I NEED TO BE ALONE I CANNOT STAND NOT BEING ALONE, Room of Requirement, oh God not there, anything but there...

_...the sun is shining through the windows, why is it always shining that isn't appropriate right now, it is so bright, too bight, it hurts it hurts it hurts -_

I see my own reflection in the windows, and then it isn't my reflection, and I am watching myself shake and cower and breaking down from another perspective, mercilessly, like a hawk from above. No one ever looks up. No one ever... The world shifts and I am the whimpering mess again.

Suddenly, there is something blocking the merciless sun that burns my skin through the floor windows, something tall and dark. “Calm down,” says a soothing, silky voice, a voice you automatically want to obey. But when did obeying ever help me?

"And when in the history of breakdowns did anyone ever calm down after someone told them too?” I hear myself shriek, really shriek, with my eyes still pressed close. My overly sensitive senses feel someone stepping closer, but still far away enough that the heat of another human and their damn magic (it smells like a flash of lightning would smell) don't hurt me too much.

"Your Occlumency walls are breaking. You are a danger to yourself and others. Go to Narnia. Now.” It is an order, and I just know that he is right. I force my eyes open, and everything is too damn close, and glaring, and all the details of everything are too sharp and too much into focus.

"Run.”

And suddenly I run. Each step pushes glowing needles through me, but I am running, as quick as I ever have, I run like a forest animal on the balls of feet, avoiding every possible collision with a weird seventh sense I have never had before, floors and windows blur, and then suddenly I am safe in the room with the lake.

With my remaining strength I make it to the glass, as if the glass is the only thing that can save me. I press my forehead into the smooth surface and close my eyes, and the bare palms of my hands, and struggle to keep my breath.

Then suddenly I rip away my tie, and my cardigan, but the buttons of the blouse are too complicated for my shaking fingers. With a strength I didn't know I had I rip the first few buttons open, losing them in the process, until I can finally breathe, and free my hair. I stay there forever, until the soothing noises of the waves and the coolness of the room and the glass take over me, and I move with the steady rhythm of the waves, breathe it in, feel how my magic discharges and dissolves into the lake, harmlessly now, and feel the time sand under my skin follow the patterns of the light, broken twice through the water surface and the glass, drawn on my exposed skin.

 

***

Once my sobbing stops (when did I start sobbing?) a small eternity passes, and then I hear the hidden door opening a little.

"After my first one, I couldn't stand most fabrics.” Something lands in the middle of the room with a soft floomph. “Call when you can stand company.” The door closes.

I stay pressed to the glass for five more minutes, just for the comfort that slowly comes back. Then, with shaky legs I turn around. I knew that he had left again, but it is still calming that I am alone in the tall, secret room. I can probably still feel another person's energy from across the room, and _his_ energy...

On the floor lies something black. A robe. He is offering me a robe. Carefully I step closer, and I need more bravery than ever before to touch the unknown fabric. It is soft, cool, and incredibly smooth.

Right now I couldn't care less about what may be inappropriate, and within seconds I got rid of all my scratchy, tight, skin-cutting clothes, and find myself wrapped in a miracle of weaving art. I hurry back to the soothing glass, highly focused on the stones under my bare feet, and the soft material of the robes around me. It is the least irritating fabric I have ever felt.

I focus on breathing, and risk a look towards the lake. It is, once again, still. My own reflection disturbs me. I don't look like I should be looking. The woman that stares back is a stranger, with eyes like mirrors due to some reflection. Totally explainable with logic, still disturbing. I rip my attention away forcefully and stare at the pattern the waves draw at my hands.

"I'm ready,” I say as loudly as I can manage. The professor enters his room, and I find out immediately that I had been right about his energy. It is overwhelming. I step back to the corner where the glass meets the castle wall, and my legs shake so much that I, quite ungracefully, flop down there and wrap my arms around my knees and the really huge robes around my legs.

He seems to know exactly what is going on, and slowly steps to his desk at the other side of the room. He takes a seat behind it (another barrier between us, re-balancing the intimacy of me in his clothes) and folds his fingers to a tiny roof in front of his face. I have seen that often. I know that there are portraits of all the teachers that ever were in Hogwarts, hung in a hidden corridor to the headmaster's office. If they ever paint him, they should do it just like that. Behind the huge desk, with the sun patterns from the lake dancing over him, everything glowing in this dark green from the floating lamps and the water, hands in a roof...

_Don't, H. The walls are gone, he can see that, probably._

Uh, the voice of reason. And where have you been while I completely lost it?

_Trying to stop your magic from blowing your nice little brain and the whole castle, dearie, and you know that._

"What happened?” All is still so damn blurry.

"Your Occlumency didn't lead your emotions away in a controlled flow, as it should be, but existed as a wall or shield, as it shouldn't be over a prolonged period of time. This way, it isn't healthy. The emotions built up behind that wall, and your dam broke. I could feel it down here.” Full teacher-mode here. It is well-known too, and calming, and only slightly accusing.

I knew all that stuff. I just couldn't help it. “I'm not weak,” I whisper, not really sure if that is true.

"That has nothing to do with weakness or strength, it is a fact that could be avoided with sensible teaching.”

"I taught myself. With a book."

"Then it is more than excusable. You came far on your own, so far that I didn't notice the building-up.” That's much to admit for mister Sherlock-Holmes-I-see-everything, and I take it as the closest to 'I am sorry' I can probably get.

"This may be a strange question for a Gryffindor, but how much do you trust me?"

"What? I... How..." And my mind isn't any smarter than that.

He tries to be patient, and that is the real 'I'm sorry' and the only one that matters. "I can help you now, but only from inside your head. You mustn't fight me."

"Do it," I say without hesitation.

He comes over, and my breath gets quicker. "Legilimence," he says softly and points his wand at me. I close my eyes out of instinct. I can still see us in Narnia, but it keeps changing its form. I stare at the glass window and see us mirrored, standing next to each other instead of face to face, and also looking a little different than before. His aura of energy looks even stronger, and I have less colour. Closer to invisible. Closer to Whisper. I don't like my reflection. I feel my hands starting to shake, and the whole room shakes, too.

"You need a strong mental image." His deep baritone fills the room. "A place without any negative emotional connection. A beloved childhood story, maybe. Olympus?"

I feel flattered that he seems to associate me with Greek mythology, even though I am unsure why it flatters me. It has been a really strange day. But Olympus won't do. Too real, too many flawed, greedy, thriving, bickering, emotion driven, complicated personalities...

 _You shouldn't lie now. People are complicated. Too complicated sometimes. You don't feel connected to people_ , my reflection says out loud.

It is embarrassing, but all I get is an understanding smile from his reflection. And I just let go, I let go of the embarrassment and the shame of not connecting, and instead I focus on a real strong mental image.

The first thing I see is a wind chime. Sea glass and feathers. They distract nightmares, after all. Gran said so and I believed her. But the room is still shaking, and even this image hurts. And I don't need distraction. I can't hide from this behind moving bits and tokens. What I need for this is control.

Of course, it is Camelot. It could have never been anything else. A silver castle on green hills, and a white throne room with a round table, and a crown banner and a lion banner next to it. High pillars and high window frames, but no glass separates the outside from me, dust dances beautifully in almost touchable beams of sunlight, moving in the cool, clear air.

I stand under the silver lion on blue ground (the colours feel right), and hold the high wooden back of the empty chair, my empty chair, on the Round Table. The banners move and outside, trees rustle. On the other side of Arthur's chair, where Merlin sits, is Severus. "Now imagine a clear river outside," he says, and it is done.

"All the thoughts you drown in are something harmless now. Feathers, or soap bubbles, or pieces of fabric, maybe."

I go with the soap bubbles. I always liked them best.

"Now let them float out of the windows and down the river."

I don't know how to do this, and desperation comes as quickly as the castle came, and suddenly I think that you can also drown in bubbles.

"My wand isn't here" I whisper. "I can't conjure wind... I can't..."

"You don't need it here. All this belongs to you. You command the place. If you want wind, pull it in with your hands." He shows me how it is done, and I copy the elegant motions, way more wooden and clumsy, but it works.

The first heavy bubbles start to float out, and follow the silver band of the river, and I lose myself in the deepest focused workflow I have ever fallen into. I do not notice when he retreats, or how long I take, but when the White Hall is finally clear, I feel so much better.

Coming back is like waking up and still lingering on a dream, and I am in Narnia and Camelot at the same time. Neither will leave me ever again.

"Thank you," I break the spell before I lose my remaining bravery.

"It was your doing."

"You helped me built it. Or find it. Whatever. I, erm. So. What would have happened if I... fought you?"

"You would have killed us both, and maybe blasted off an impressive piece of the castle in an uncontrolled magical discharge. Imagine a tsunami wave."

"Oh. Oh God. If it happens again, what... how can I ever..."

"Make sure it won't happen. Your magic is quite impressive. I've had the theory for a while that magical ability is directly connected to mental or emotional capacities, and you seem to unite both. Meaning, you have this power, so you must learn to control it. But for now you have to give it a rest. Are you aware of the trigger?"

"I... I am. After I got hit with Bubotuber pus from hate mail, Madam Pomfrey accidentally said a sentence that... got me. It wasn't her fault, it is a normal sentence, quite ordinary, I just... It was just _Don't let them get to you_ , really, it was well-meant but... I've heard it too much when everyone tried to give me part of the blame for... and...” I am starting to babble, and feel embarrassment rise like a giant wave. Tsunami indeed. The memories lump together in my throat again, and my heart starts beating...

"For me, it is 'Don't make such a fuss', but I would not suggest to try it, if you like being in one piece.” Always fascinating that he just can't share something personal without threatening me right after. Still, it works, I can take my mind off it, the memories withdraw, and my heartbeat leaves my ears to go beating where it rightfully belongs.

"There is not really much that scares me any more, but the thought of you losing it does the trick quite well," I manage, and there is even a tiny giggle breaking free. "Fume coming out of your ears and all."

I get the half-grin in response, and then the miracle: "I couldn't help but view some of the memories during your breakdown. They were screaming at me. I wasn't eavesdropping. It was unprofessional of me to say that about your teeth.”

I open my mouth, but the words leave me hanging. I sit there, looking like a cow for what may be several minutes, and then give up and close it again. “Thanks for the robe,” I say finally. “It helps.”

"Keep it. Transfigure it to look like school robes. Find out how yourself, I did it as a teenager, a little know-it-all should be up to the task. I don't need you wiggling around in my classroom even more. It irritates me."

"I-I... Okay. Won't it change back after a while? Objects that are transfigured too often lose their form stability and try to return to their natural state of matter."

Back in the safe haven of academics, he rolls his eyes. "I _know_. These won't. They are made from the silk cocoon of Acrumantula eggs."

"Spider egg cocoons? Don't you confuse that with _butterflies_?"

"You will be confused with a butterfly soon if you don't start to show some respect, girl," he says softly.

I laugh, and relax a little, and lean against the wall. It is reassuringly _there_. "Can I... stay a little longer? I won't disturb you, and I'm not awaited back anytime soon.”

He shrugs, and starts turning to his papers. After a while, he asks without looking up: “Hate mail concerning Skeeter's article?”

“Mhm.” I have my eyes closed and snuggle as much as possible into the cool and steady surfaces behind me, to stop the world from being too sharp and edgy. It starts to help.

“Bunch of nonsense. But I'll get her back somehow.”

"How determined that sounds. Don't your housemates fall into fits of _chivalry_ over that particular problem?” He started to sneer again, that probably means I am not in (or an) immediate danger any more. That's good, I think.

How dangerous was I really? And why is he staying then? That's really not a smart move. Not that I'm complaining though. “I don't need a white knight, or a black one, or any knight. I'll do that myself. Don't bother with it either. If that is going to be my biggest problem this year, I am really lucky. Ehm..."

"What is it?"

"I don't know how..."

"I can't help you if you don't say it. The solving of problems regarding the castles and your security should not be influenced by petty emotions like embarassment."

"Hm. I - no. It's not embarrassment. I'm... afraid. But I have to know. Did you know, in first year? Did Dumbledore want us to find the stone, despite all we had to go through to get it? Was it a trap for... for _him_?"

He looks sad. I have to look away. "When you're too sharp you only cut yourself, girl. Also, consider that I am not the person to comfort you with lies. Now reconsider if you want an answer."

"I'm afraid I already got it. But why didn't I wonder sooner - ? Oh. The potion we drank to leave the riddle room. Of course. Cinnamon taste. Memory softener. Used in your world's equivalent of trauma therapy. Smart."

"It wasn't my idea, but I contributed, and I am not free of guilt."

"Who even is, in the end..." The silence is long now. Sometimes I think that this friendship consist of more silences than actual words. I don't know if that's good. I don't know if that's bad, either. I do know that the smooth cold walls behind me, and the stone floor beneath me, and the glass and water on my side, and yes, the man across the room and his soft, soothing robes, bring me back from the edge I have been standing on. Only now that I am coming back I do realize how far I had been gone.

You can only push a human mind so far. And a human mind with magic... I think that all stories started somewhere, and there are more than enough stories from people going over the edge who probably were real witches and wizards, now immortal in the words Once Upon A Time. I remember a little mermaid that dissolved into foam on the waves, women turned into swans or doves or deer, and a Japanese fox spirit turned into a woman for love but disappeared once discovered, and that the Finish Fire Fox ran so quickly across the snow that his tail caused sparks to fly into the night sky, creating the Aurora. Calming thoughts, wandering from story to story, always following a new trail, well-known and soothing, even though most of the stories were sad. Sad doesn't mean bad.

I take careful breaths, and my fingers glide over the stone and the silky black robe that caresses my arms and shoulders as well as my naked feet (when did I lose my shoes?), and remember that I am here, and I am real, and I am still me.

"So?" comes from the table.

"So, what?" I am tired. My thoughts feel sore. I don't want to play his mind games right now.

"Getting ready to storm out on me? Hex me? Cut ties? I wouldn't blame you, after all." Defeated. Defeated? Why? Who does he think I am, running out on him for something he did years ago, on behalf of our ever-meddling Dumbledore, for whatever aim? I am mad and sad and tired, and confused and hurting all over, but that's not why you ditch a friend.

Still I'm not ready to forgive just yet. "What would it change? And I passed the test, didn't I? Not that I'm bitter," I say bitterly, in a bitter voice "but that's all that counts, isn't it? Pass the tests. Get the points. Do the right things in the right, rewarded way. That's all what school is for."

"Welcome to reality." Couldn't have said anything less asshole, could he? Contrary on purpose, offering shelter and robes and Narnia, and then turning the dagger in the wound. I hate it. I hate it that I can't hate him.

"Do people even count in a these big schemes? Single people? A person? Does a person matter at all?"I whine.

"In the big scheme, probably not. Right now, you, to me? Yes."

O-Kay. Now that was unexpected.

"What are you staring at, girl?"

"Waiting for you to burst into flames."

"Garlic would do the trick. Or sunlight."

I giggle, but the noise is heavy. Suddenly, the tiredness gets the best of me, and my vision fades as I close my eyes. Just for a moment, just a moment of peace, knowing that I matter, here in the green and blue shadows of that treasured secret.

"You said your world. Not ours."

"Did I?" I drift away, taking with me the melancholia of having to let that moment go.

 


	15. about each cosmic pro and con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! As promised, the second one. Also not very happy. You know how the story goes down after the Triwizard Tournament. Graphic description of wounds and pain, but also healing.

 

It is June. It is June, and the end is beginning, it is June and I trusted in the wrong people, it is June and I miscalculated, it is June and Harry almost died. And _he_ is back. And Severus has gone.

My best friend is in the hospital wing, and his best friend is sleeping by his bedside, and my other best friend is facing a monster. I sit in the hidden chamber I used to call Narnia light-heartedly, only days ago, and let the reflections of the lake wander over my skin. It is June and I am cold. It is June and I am tired of being brave.

Dumbledore knew that something was coming. Dumbledore distrusted Moody. Dumbledore didn't protect Harry. Dumbledore didn't protect Hogwarts. Dumbledore sent Severus back to _him_ , to die.

It is June, and the school year is almost over, and I am alone. I didn't trust Moody, but I didn't tell anyone, I didn't do anything, I didn't trust my own judgement, and now it is too late. I rolled my eyes at Harry because the two years that separate us made him look childish. I rolled my eyes at Severus because the seventeen years that separate us made him look bitter. Now I may lose them both. I rolled my eyes at Ron because he is Ron, and now he is with Harry, as faithful and true as a friend can be.

When I am honest, and here hidden under the lake I have no other chance, it is Ron who will carry him up to Mount Doom if necessary. Dumbledore might set up the quest, and I may lead the army, but Harry lifts the weight of the burden, and Ron carries him. But this is not a fantasy novel. This is reality. And there will be no giant eagles to save us, or any other deux et machina. It is June and we are at war. And I am not prepared.

 _Someday this pain will make sense to you._ How? How could it? How could it ever? This fear? This helplessness?

 _Plopp_.

A house elf appears, wearing a clean towel with the Hogwarts crest like a beach dress. She has her tiny hand on a black lump. The lump moans. Severus. He has lost his consciousness, helpless and heavy on his back, his hands are cramped and bleeding, and he is paler than ever.

For a moment I just stand there, staring, shaking. He has been hurt. He has been tortured, I'm sure. I have read about the effects of the Cruciatus. I don't know what to do. Desperation is ringing in my ears.

Severus is back, and I have to help him, and I don't know how. I don't _know_. "Miss Guardian was waiting for Master Nose?"

"Yes," I hear myself say.

The tiny elf nods, as if all is just the way it is supposed to be. "Good. Filly needs instructions to get help," she says calmly. And that snaps me back. Any action is better than none, and I can't afford to be in shock now.

"Please fetch Madam Pomfrey, but ask her to come to his classroom outside. I think this room should remain a secret. I will get him out of here carefully. Thank you for bringing him in." I sound confident and find hope in that.

The elf disappears. Now, fear, shame and adrenaline kick my frozen brain until my thoughts are sharp as knives. I have to make decisions, and quick. Carefully I approach him, open the brooch of his heavy (and heavily ripped) black robes, and transfigure them into a mattress. He whimpers as the underground changes.

"It's all right. You are home. You are safe." It's what my mother used to tell me after a nightmare. Dad once said that small kids don't really understand negatives, that they only hear _hurt_ when the dentists says it won't hurt, that you need to watch your words. Maybe that is for wounded people, too.

Strands of black hair stick in his face. "I will brush your hair out of your face now," I announce loudly. "I guess it tickles you like that, that can't be comfortable." As if that was his problem right now. But maybe it occupies his mind for a moment. Carefully, I brush them away. I didn't expect them to be so soft... he whimpers.

"Help is coming, and I will bring you out of here and keep this room secret. It is all right. Everything will be all right." I am surprised that my voice is so steady. Somehow, I am steady right now. I am what is needed.

I open a few buttons of the frock coat so he can breathe easily. His skin radiates a feverish heat. I do not dare to touch him. Instead I let the whole mattress float out of the room very carefully and gently, and let him down slowly.

I close the door and hide Narnia. The essence of Dittany catches my eye. I guess it won't do harm. His hands... all his fingernails a broken, probably from clenching the fists too hard during the torture. He probably has half moons dug in the palms of his hand. _Germs. Infections._ I have the facts, now I have to do the work.

"I found some bowls and the Dittany, I am going to put your hands in there. It will be better soon," I inform him and try to sound as secure about that as possible, and keep my tone bright. It seems to be the right thing. I see his hands slowly relax in the liquid. Now there is nothing more that I can do than to sit beside him, watch the tedious breathing, and to keep talking.

Minutes like hours like years. Finally, Madam Pomfrey enters the classroom. She doesn't really look like herself - or maybe I am only seeing her clearly for the first time. She still wears her white apron and cap, but I could swear for a moment that she has billowing black robes and a pointy hat, and her face is sharp and hard.

"So here we are again, poor boy," she says in a soft voice that doesn't fit her new (real?) face, and comes closer with a swift pace. She is wearing heavy dark boots under the clean dress, I can see that from my position on the ground. They shale the stone floor.

"You found him like that?" She asks me with an authority I cannot refuse to answer to.

"Cramped on the floor, ma'am. I transfigured the mattress so he won't cool down any more, and fixed the Dittany, he told me himself that it eases pain."

"Mhm."

If I had won the damn house cup I couldn't have been prouder in that moment.

"Hush now. I don't need children here."

"No."

"Excuse me?" She heard me perfectly well, she only gives me a chance to re-think my answer. I don't. I can't.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't leave him now. I found him. It is my responsibility." She stares at me. It is a bone-deep stare from hard, measuring, weighting, knowing eyes, and probably finding me too small.

_You can't win this time. And you shouldn't fight her._

The voice is right. I look away first, but I don't go. I don't care about winning this time.

"All right. Don't disturb me." And then she doesn't waste any more time. I have to admit I have never seen something like that before. Healing magic is a highly complicated net of spells and patterns and raw magic that she draws around him like a spider's web, a cocoon, a heliosphere of silver light with herself and him as a burning core in the middle, like a small sun. I am not sure how I know, but I do know that she channels his pain through her own body by her mere will, and lets it out in the air in small waves of electrically loaded current, until my skin prickles and my hair stands up and it smells like a broken muggle plasma lamp. Gas discharges, I think, flashes of lightning, electron avalanches.

Wave by wave the pain leaves his body, controlled, and evaporates to a harmless nothingness, until he is relaxed again. Then she starts to fix what was broken. After more minutes like centuries, Madam Pomfrey comes back from her - her what? Trance? Workflow? Highest point of focus? Who cares. Now she looks like Poppy again, all traces of black hats are gone.

To my embarrassment I am starting to cry. "Hush, hush. That's why I don't want students around. It's hard to witness. But you did good. Good thinking with the mattress and the Dittany, and you took it good with the magic." She looks exhausted, but content.

"He will be all right?" I am still sobbing .

"As much as possible, yes. Now he needs to rest."

Automatically I reach out for him, as I would have for Ron or Harry, but pain is still like a pulsing aura around him. I cannot describe it better - there is the expression of raw meat under my fingertips without me touching anything but air. I withdraw. Madam Pomfrey tilts her head and stares at me.

I just keep on crying. Severus lives, and breathes, and I cry, and I just witnessed magic beyond my poor muggle imagination. So I say the only sensible thing anyone could say: "Teach me. Please."

Madam Pomfrey smiles her gentle smile at me. "No."

 

***

And another note (I'm getting really talky now it seems): I have always adored Poppy, but I find it hard to get a grip on her character. Imagine that, in another world with elephants on a giant turtle, she may be a witch too (GNU Terry Pratchett). Anyway, she is a grumpy badass with a heart of gold and a backbone of steel and no one can convince me otherwise.

 


	16. nothing changes, for all the blazing of

 

I camp in front of the Hospital Wing for two whole days, both because of my friends and my new goal. She ignores me. I sleep where James and Sirius were sleeping all those years ago, leaned on each other's shoulder, only that I am alone.

Ron is inside, by Harry's bedside, and doesn't even think of questioning what I do. I don't question it either. This isn't about getting into the room. It is about _getting in_ , and both Poppy and I know. During the day I sit there and stare at the door. It would be better if I could sit outside and let the rain and the birds mess me up (never underestimate a good dramatic effect) but in the end it works out nevertheless.

"The last time I saw you before that, you stormed out on me." No hello, no curtsies; hard eyes in a wrinkled face. And _that_ is clearly a test. When I think about the trigger incident, I still feel rage awaken in me.

"Yes, ma'am. You triggered some of my worst memories and I had to get out."

"I could have helped you."

I doubt that.

"I need to learn to help myself." It didn't really work out then, but I still mean it. She nods. Passed the test. We hold eye contact, which feels like another test.

"You never showed any interest in healing, girl."

Round two. "I am interested in my friends."

"Not good enough. I can't be having with some child who runs away when things get a little grubby. Are you easily scared?"

"I stabbed an Acrumanta once."

"Ah. Interesting. I healed an Acrumantula with a stab wound once. What does that tell you?"

"That you are a damn good healer."

"And?" Another test. Is _everything_ a test with her?

I take a deep breath. I guess it is. But I am still Hermione Jane Granger. Exams are my thing. Good luck, Madam. "That you help everyone in need."

"Right. Everyone. Do you understand what that means? The good ones, the bad ones. Giant spiders, bullies, criminals. People who are wrong, cruel, careless, stupid, people I love, people I loathe. Sometimes I heal people next to their victims. I heal. I don't ask questions. Can you do that?"

Now that was a short excursion to a field I would have loved to learn more about, summed up in the longest speech she ever gave.

And even though it hurts I know the correct answer. "No."

She nods. "I cannot teach you to be a healer, girl."

I get up. Failure rushes in my ears like waves, and my stomach is heavy. But our nice little Madam The Healer has a core of steel, and no means absolutely _no_. "I am sorry I wasted your time, then."

"Where are you going?"

"Gryffindor tower?"

"Do you always give up that easy?"

"Sorry?"

"You have to learn to listen, girl. I cannot teach you to be a healer. Healers are born, not taught. But I can still teach you to _heal_. Some of the curses, some wounds. Even enough, maybe."

I can hardly believe my ears. "And why would you do this?"

"Because, girl, pain is the only real enemy. And I am running short on allies. Also, the castle has accepted you, and knowledge doesn't hurt."

I swallow. "I will start my lessons with not asking how you know about the castle, or why you look just as old as during the First War."

Now, she nods. "So I will start my teaching with not asking why you were around to find your professor in such a state, while I know that he never lets anyone come close enough for that."

We look at each other. We measure _each other_. After all, I am not a stupid school kid any more. I am Guardian of the Castle, even though she had to remind me. We are about to form an alliance, not an apprenticeship.

"Can you learn from me?" She asks calmly.

"You are _competent_ ," I answer.

"High praise." We share the smallest of smiles.

After we found an agreement in that, my hardest task yet begins. She starts from scratch, makes me list ingredients and potions. I pass that state within an hour, photographic memory, thanks a lot. When she orders an uncooked liver from the kitchen, cuts it open and I see the blood, my stomach goes full traitor and represents the contents of the latest meals. It has all been to much in the end.

"You should rest."

"No... I mean, I can't. He was laying there, and I couldn't help, I didn't know... war is coming and I don't know enough... I have to learn. Please. Now. Time is running out." Not as good a wording as in my head, but she takes it.

With a wave of wand I let the contents of the paper bin disappear, and after a moment I conjure a muggle safety mask and pull it on.

"You could just dim down your sense of smell." Poppy states at me with lurking eyes.

"And get my ingredients confused? Not risking that. I'll use the mask until I have adjusted, and then just use a magical germ-shield like you do."

"How do you know?"

"It would be logical that you do that." Apparently this finally does the trick, and she starts to teach me simple spells that clean and close a wound, and some facts about the different natures of pain (physically, psychologically, or magically inflicted), and why most of wizard medication doesn't work on muggles. Some of it still would, and she is angry about the laws that forbid mixing, and that brings us closer together.

The magical dome, the very start of any healing magic worth the name, is a different story. It just doesn't come closer to anything of substance, it fades like wind, no matter what I do or try. In the few short breaks I allow myself, I linger in the doorway and look at the sleeping Harry and the sleeping Severus, both sleeping away nightmares, unaware of each other or the passing of time. The feeling of failure, ever present since I first saw a moaning lump of black clothes on the ground, digs iron claws into my chest.

Dumbledore visits nightly. He stands next to the beds, looking sad, and then looks at me, still sad. "I let you three down, Hermione. Four, considering poor Diggory, five with Amus whom I know very well, and six with Miss Chang, who grieves her heart out in the corridor."

"If you go on like this, sir, you'll have yourself convinced that the whole world is lost because of you by midnight."

"Is it not?" He smiles sadly.

I am too tired, and too exhausted, and, to be honest, too scared to follow him on this path. "Even if you were, sir, you are the one to make it right again. Isn't that how it goes? We have adventures, things get really bad, and then you save the day."

"Maybe one time in the future I won't, maybe one time the day cannot be saved."

I feel my strength regrow at his defeat and shake off the claws. Why is it that I only feel strong for others and never for myself? "It will be," I say and mean it "it will always be saved. Through you, or Harry, or all of us. It has to be. So it will be."

Now his smile is more open. "Good," be says. "Maybe it is a foolish emotion of an old man, but I must admit I value bravery the most. Cleverness gives you ideas, cunning makes you dream not only big but grand, and hard work brings you far, but to make the first step out of your mind and into action, you need to be brave."

I gently shake my head at that, get up from the hard wooden chair I was resting on, stretch and step to Harry. His brows are furrowed, and even in sleep he looks tense. "I am not so sure, sir. I think that, by now, the storm will come for us weather we step towards it, or hold our positions. Maybe we need to be smart first, and brave later."

"How lucky it is we got you, then." I want to reply something, but when I turn around he isn't there any more.

Harry gets out the next day, Ron and me accompany him, but he soon tries to get away from us. Ron clings to his siblings soon, and I disappear to work on producing the Merlin-forsaken buggering magical globe that shields a patient from external harm and the exterior from accidents during the pain-taking. It always flickers a few times and then goes out. It's frustrating to a point where I want to scream (but at least it takes my mind off the fact that no one seems to miss me outside of the Hospital Wing.Yes, I did disappear for time travelling quite a lot in my third year, and they are used to me spending time in the library on my own, but – nothing? Not even now, now that everything changes? I try to hold myself to what mum always says, never estimate cruelty where inattention is more likely, but shouldn't they pay attention now?). I hiss at the dome when it crumbles like sand once more. What am I doing wrong? I got the movements, the words, the thoughts she told me to have. But hour after hour nothing happens, and it is only the basic for healing magic. The basics.

 

_You suck at this._

Not helpful.

_Still true._

"I've never seen someone struggle so hard with a basic shield. You have to put your faith in it, girl!" Madam Pomfrey snaps at the umpteenth try and fail start. I grind my teeth, and swallow a comment about faith, trust, and pixie dust, try it several times more and then she orders me to take a break.

I can't sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, there is a black lump in front of the beautiful glass window, and red eyes in a stormy night, and Harry clutching to a dead body, and sometimes Cedric with a dead body instead. And there are other nightmares, weird ones, where I am lined up with my friends in front of Professor Trelawney, of all people, who yells at me like a Drill Sargent, yells that my inner eye is useless, and so are my gut instincts, and that all I have is fire power. I am failing even in my dreams, and the healing dome doesn't work, and maybe it has something to do with my useless gut and my over-achieving brain. I am all head, Madam Pomfrey chides, but I don't know how to be anything else. I stay awake.

In the early hours before morning I linger in the doorway once again, perform a few of the unobtrusive hand gestures Severus taught me to keep the Occlumency and the magic and my mind flowing and open (they DO look like muggle Tai Chi, but we never talked about that) and try to relax, and to ground myself in the present. Light on the floor, light in his face, light breaking in my vision as it is caught in tears I can't cry. I am endlessly tired, and nothing works. A fat bug sits on the wall next to me. Somehow it looks curious.

A bug. _That_ bug. Bug in the classes. Bug in my hair. Slytherins talking to their hand. Whenever something happened that appeared in the Prophet after, that bug was there. A bug with squares. All year. Through all of Harry's trials, through all that went wrong, this one tiny little detail was a constant.

I am stupid. So. Damn. Stupid. Is everyone an animagus now? Everyone except me?

_Stop overthinking and do something. When she starts thinking about Severus too hard..._

My hand slithers into my ever-present bag, where I always carry a tiny glass. In case I need bluebell flames or collect time sand or whatever. One step to the side, glass high, the bug looks annoyed, but it is in. "All right, Miss Skeeter. Let's talk."

Hours later, sleep finally catches me. In the end it always does, doesn't it? Rita is tucked away in the brewing room. I will let her out in two or three days. Maybe.

I have been sitting on the hard wooden chair next to Severus for hours, as always a guardian under Disillusionment, watching the light slowly drip in the room, move through it, and over to the other wall. His face, pale and silent, doesn't change. He is breathing. Up and down goes his chest.

The year is over. So is my childhood. In the end it is too heavy, and I cannot hold my eyes open any more. I cross my arms on the bed, lay my head on it (only for five minutes), feel invisible curls in my face, and doze off.

"Whisper?"

"Mhm." It is warm, and the sunlight is red behind my closed eyelids, and I dream that Severus is asking for me. His voice is hoarse.

"Strange. I wasn't sure if you were real for a moment," he admits sleepily.

"Sometimes I'm not sure either."

"So you are the most irritating hallucination ever?"

"I'm not even fully awake," I moan, and refuse to open my eyes, or to lift my head or to stir at all. I am so very tired. Silence, only two people breathing and the curtains moving in the wind. The wooden floor, scrubbed until it is almost white, cracks. I know without having to look that dust is dancing. Far away outside, in another world, people laugh.

"Poppy said you found me."

"Mhm." "

"It wasn't that bad."

"Then I do hope it never gets that bad."

"So do I. You were good, there."

"You heard me." I am too exhausted to be truly embarrassed, but I am still glad I am cradling my face in my arms, and that I am invisible. "And I wasn't good. I was scared. But I am learning."

"You should go."

"Probably." I don't move a millimetre.

"Won't the girls in your dorm notice your absence?"

"Facsimile. They also think I am sneaking out to meet Viktor."

"Krum? Doing what?"

"Him, I suppose."

There is a tiny snort. "You did it again. You found me."

_I will always find you, I will always find you, I will be there when you need me, I will fight off everything, no matter how tired I will be..._

_Pathetic, much?_

So now all of my inner voices hate each other. Great. I compose myself and say: "Filly found you. I was just holding the banner until Poppy came."

"You remember the name of the house elf?"

"Of course I do," I mumble into my folded arms. "And one day, when I'm not only a child no one takes seriously, I will make everyone treat them right. Just like that. I know they love to help, love to be there for someone, love to belong and built a home and care, but I'll be damned if I let people turn that love into slavery."

I got Rita, and I was right about Moody, and I won't let that one go either. I only notice that I lost control over my Disillusionment when I feel a hand on my wrist. A cool hand, not feverish or bloody any more, but smooth like marble. Everything becomes thrice more intense. My curls all over my face and crossed arms, my skin on the blankets, the smell of potions and clean sheets, and in the centre of the universe the broken contract of no touches.

Tension is generated, and the air is loaded untill I can almost feel the magic-discharging protons and electrons hush over my skin. I have to do something, something -

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"During Harry's first Quidditch match, it was me who set you on fire." And the tension explodes in laughter. A deep, throaty, untrained laughter, and I cannot hold back and start to laugh too, and I put my hand over his hand just as I would if it were Harry or Ron, and I emerge from behind the curtain of curls. We laugh until tears stream down our faces, and when the first tear touches the ground, the sad remains of my healing network pathetically start to glow, and magic floats from knot point to knot point, until we are in a silver ball of magic like a universe. And our hands are the sun.

Poppy appears in the doorway, looks at the magic and the glowing knots and my hand on his hand, and gives me a short nod. "Looks like I don't have to kick you out after all."

 

 

 


	17. our drastic jargon, but clock hands that move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks! so with this chapter we will visit Hermione's home life, and then go straight ahead to Order of the Phoenix!

 

 

It is almost a ritual now: I change to the point where I don't recognize myself any more, and then I return home and sit in my old room. It is calm and bright, bookshelves and light blue colours, postcards and art prints and grandmas wind chime, and mum plays the piano downstairs. She always knows when not to talk to me. I sit on my bed, feeling like a stranger, and wait for the part of me that stayed at Hogwarts to catch up.

I also try and brace myself for the storm of questions that is about to come. They are pretty damn smart, and they know how to read between the lines of the letters I sent them. My quarrels with the girls, my older friends, my younger friends, the muggle world, the magical world, how I always miss something the other world takes for granted; how caught I am between everything. How trapped I feel sometimes, and how _urgent_ it is to do something, _anything_ , to _save the damn world_.

At least this time I am of age, and the trace is gone, and I have already secured the place to a point where I find it a little over the top myself. So I think, and add another protection spell, and then wander down to my parents to tell them about the new safety I installed. They look at me like they did back then when I dragged them to the computer lab first.

In the end, my elaborate explanation is dimmed down to "This is a magic detector. It goes _ding_ when there is stuff," and they are quite happy with it. Apart from that, hardly anything changes here. I sleep in, ignore dreams of Drill Sargent Trelawny and a Special Force force dressed in robes, and the next day mum cooks delicious sugar-free food, I show them pictures of the Jule Ball and others that the Creevy kid snuck during the year, and mimic teachers and girl drama, stuff that is universally known and doesn't make them feel left out. I pose in my dress robes, and produce shiny butterflies, and let the whole tea table fly up to the roof to re-enact the Mary Poppins Tea Party, to my mom's ultimate delight.

"So you finally got over your fear of heights again, that's amazing, love! Mountain trip here we come! I'll get the brochures on Monday." She smiles bright and happily.

Dad is in for the more serious matters:" So this Viktor and his boyfriend are being suppressed in their home county? It's a shame, this is the nineties after all, not the Middle Ages! How about inviting them over for a few days?"

And in that moment I know for sure that I must protect my parents at all costs. You-know-who killed a boy because he was just around, what would he do to the loved ones of his enemies? And I sure as hell am his enemy.

I take a deep breath, and regret the fact that we only had two careless weeks together, and slowly let the table sink again.

"Mum, dad, there is more..."

_Ding!_

I'm on my feet in no time, wand drawn, and send them to the kitchen. A figure in all black clothes comes down our doorway with long, determined steps. My heart tucks on my sleeve shyly. _Yes, I know_. It increases its beat.

He knocks. But it is really him? Can it be him? How did he crush my wards so easily? But wait, they don't work on people that mean no harm, I wanted to protect not isolate... Or it is someone else, someone too mighty to even notice the wards... Or is it him? Really him?

Only one way to find out. I open the door a little, the bewitched chain and with that all my spells still in place: "Password?"

"Let me in already, bookworm, this is foolish," he growls.

I can't help but grin. "Nah, not good enough."

Behind me something stirs. Both my parents are peeking round the kitchen door frame. Mum is holding a frying pan. I'm not sure if I am to laugh or to wail in defeat.

"Wait, isn't that the _professional_ that called our girl a know-it-all when she was only eleven?"

"Dad!"

"Harold!"

"Sir?"

Oh God, Merlin, or Greek Pantheon, whoever is listening, just let me vanish. I don't vanish.

There is a sigh in front of the door. "Dolor hic tibi proderit olim," says the silky tired-of-your-shit-voice. I open the door, and he strides in.

"What's that, a summary of your teaching?" Dad snaps.

"Oh Merlin's star-spangled underpants," Professor Snape murmurs as he passes by. I giggle helplessly.

"Mister and Misses Granger, I have come on behalf of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, to invite your daughter for a stay with a highly secretive Magical Order," he delivers flawlessly.

Mum looks from me to him and him to me, notices my silky black summer dress and his usual robes, measures how far away we stand from each other with a knowing look, and wiggles her eyebrows at me. I want to hit my face with the frying pan until I pass out.

"Tea!" Dad still isn't over the snapping part.

"Harold, your Colonel is showing."

My dad rolls his eyes, not even doing the usual 'I am not my father' and goes directly to "I sit-blocked the damn military with you, Mary."

"When your hair was still longer..." Mum all but purrs. Oh wow. Doctor and Doctor Granger re-life their hippie years. They are doing that on purpose, I know it. Snogging wouldn't be worse.

"I wouldn't object if you were to poison me right now," I murmur to Severus.

"That would spoil the fun," he murmurs back, and suddenly I understand that he is enjoying himself immensely. Bastard. He grins.

When we sit around the tea table, mum tries her best to pull details out of Severus, dad tries his best to kill him with looks, and I stare down at my scones as if they are the most fascinating thing in the world, while I try to button up my blue cardigan without anyone noticing. Just letting the dress be and show my bare shoulders under the spaghetti holders would have been way more natural, but somehow I am hyper aware of every single pore in my skin.

"Just let her have her little rebellion, dear, it is high time. And she will be with her friends and teachers."

"It is dangerous. I said it from the beginning, and you won't sweet-talk me out of it again, Mary, our girls needs protection."

"I can assure you that she is absolutely capable of protecting herself, sir."

I let a scone drop. It performs a point-landing in my tea mug.

"Sweetheart? Hermione, what is it?" Mum puts her hands around my hands, and I look down on them. Bigger and way browner than mine, gentle, capable hands. Mum. I can't just let her be in danger. Get hurt, be scared, lost, imprisoned, tortured, killed.

All the amusement fades away from the scene, until we are almost in greyscale, washed-out colours subsiding on the frames of my vision.

"Mum, dad, I... I'm not worried about myself. I know I am young, but not as young as you think, and I know I can deal. I am good. Good enough for this. You always said I need my place to shine, and I found it, but..."

I take a deep breath, and after a reassuring nod from Severus I go on: "This won't just be a rebellion. This will be a war. A fully-grown war, for my best friend's lives, and the freedom of other muggleborns like me, and the whole hidden world I found. And I know the right thing would be to protect you two and hide with you, but I've grown up with grandma's stories, and all our discussions, and _King Arthur_ , and... and... I can't leave. I can't leave the field to them. The hate, the racism. They are coming for us, mum, dad. They are coming for the me and my friends, the muggleborns, allies, muggles, the magical beasts. And I... I can't step back now. I just can't."

Silence falls over us, almost touchable, like a white sheet. Then, without meeting my eyes because he doesn't want me to see him cry, my dad puts his hands around mine and mum's, like a shield.

"What do you need us to do, sweetheart?"

 

Magic happens. When all is said and done and settled, Severus Apparates me to the secret house of the Order. I look around in the room that speaks of faded glory, and feel lost.

"You haven't spoken in two hours," he says, more gently than I ever heard him speak before.

"There is nothing to say."

"You didn't cry either."

"No."

"Do you want me to fetch someone? Some irritatingly caring redhead? This house is full of them. Or the werewolf? He is good with... _feelings_."

"You promised not to tell anyone."

"And I won't. But maybe you should."

"And it would all be for nothing? No. When this is over, and I will have found them, and said the trigger sentence, and they will... remember me, then I will tell someone. And talk about it. Even to a psychologist if I have to. But until then my silence is their only real protection. And don't _you_ dare to judge me for my coping mechanisms," I snap and hiss and do my best to be angry instead of so, so broken and afraid and alone.

The boys told me more than once that I am scary when angry, and usually, after I snap at them, they let me be. They would never dare to sit down on an old bed in the Noble House of Black next to me uninvited, back leaned on the wall, or pull me towards them until my head rests on their shoulder, and they would sure as hell not be able to fill my ever-flowing stream of thoughts with calm pictures of the sea, and grey beaches under a grey sky, and a lonely fisher boat drifting in the waves, until staring at the empty wall stops ripping me to pieces, and the world soothes around me again. Somehow it seems that ever since the Basilisk, it is always him who brings me back.

"Funny," I say into his robes.

"What?"

"That you use this picture to calm down. When I was in hiding in the past, before we talked first, the room gave me a poetry book. Muggle. There was this one... Invictus, it was called. I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."

"How poetic. I hate to disappoint, but I am nowhere near that sensitivity. It is from the only holiday I had as a child."

"And sharing one of your few happy memories isn't sensitivity?"

He sneers. "Girl."

"Hm?"

"Be serious. You have to talk about it. With someone."

I sigh and give up. "What if it doesn't work out? What if they don't remember me? Or someone accidentally says the trigger sentence and they remember too soon, and look for me, and get hurt?"

"Don't you have faith in the spell we developed? You helped working out the steps almost from the beginning. We did the _math_. It took long enough." It's not accusing. It's facts. I like facts.

"I have faith. It's a good plan. But plans fail all the time." I just gave up my parents, my home, my whole childhood world for a fight that may come, and that maybe doesn't even want me as a soldier; the muggleborn bookworm. I don't say that, but he still gets it.

"We will fix it if it goes wrong. We will work it out. We're the smartest people we know."

That makes me laugh, even though laughing feels weird and hollow. I take his hand, because that is what I wanted to do for years, and I'm glad he doesn't pull it away. I really need some comfort now. "You said we. So you're with me?"

"That's implied, isn't it?"

"Just say yes."

"Yes."

He is still there when I fall asleep that night, a calming presence in the darkness, but of course the next morning, he is gone. The room is strange, and cold, and I don't really know where I am at first. And why I am there.

One of my first thoughts is, strangely enough, that it is too cold for the black summer dress I had transfigured to robes into, and that this is a pity. When I see an unfamiliar item of clothing on the chair next to the huge bed, and finally recognize it as a cardigan made out of the least irritating fabric of all times, I feel myself smile. It is strange, how the rich black is the anchor that drags the colours back into the washed-out world.

Snuggled up in the cardigan I make my way downstairs. There is a big, but somewhat dark kitchen, with Molly Weasley cooking, Arthur smiling at her, the twins talking about something (probably semi-legal) quietly, a worn-down Professor, uhm, Remus Lupin drinking coffee, around a huge table. A nice, normal, lively scene, with Molly's handmade clothes in and the newspapers and the noise of normal people doing normal things. Warm and earthy smells, and a feeling of _yellow_ I cannot really fathom. Carefully I pull the long sleeves over my knuckles.

"Hermione, dear, you came in very late yesterday. I don't know why he was sent to pick you up, from all people..." Molly Weasley mumbles as she places a plate with obscene masses of food in front of me.

"Because Severus was, apart from me, the only person who would have been able to locate the house at all," says a calm voice behind us. Nobody but Molly jumps in surprise. I felt his energy, Lupin could probably smell him, and the twins saw him first due to the winkle they sit in. I still wish I had a wall behind my back and not an open room.

"Did you hide their house, Albus?" Molly asks a little sharper than I thought she would.

"No, Hermione did it herself. She is of age because of her time-travel, which is supposed to be a secret."

"Between the twelve of us," I murmur, and Dumbledore grins at me. Sirius Black enters the stage in a bathrobe (black, fluffy), sits down on the chair next to Lupin, steals his striped coffee mug and takes a huge sip. Lupin turns slightly red. A-ha. Well, whatever, good for them.

"I need to leave soon again, sadly, but it trust in you all to keep this house running, to our best intentions. I just wanted to assure myself of, lets say, everything." He smiles in the round, and Disapperates with a soft plopp.

"I thought this house was Apparition-Proof?" Sirius looks confused.

"It's Dumbledore," is all I can contribute. "Also, I doubt that, even though the house is very old, there are as many Ley Lines under it as under Hogwarts."

"Yup, brightest witch her age. Not the faintest what you talk about. Welcome, by the way. You all right? No offence but you look like something the cat dragged in." Sirius tries a crooked smile. I really don't know if I like him. I was never sure, actually, but I know I like Harry and Harry needs him, so...

"The bat did, actually," Remus says in his quiet, gentle voice. Sirius smiles at him, and with the most obvious gesture ever he fake-stretches and lets his arm drop behind Remus, at the back of his chair. "She warded her house to the teeth and..."

"And Snivellus cracked it? Well, that's his kind of thing, isn't it? Finding what's hidden?" Sirius snaps.

And what is this about again?

But then he seems to shrug off his anger. "Never mind, kid, I guess you did a pretty decent job there. And now you're with us. Just don't let him get to you."

I feel a nerve twitch right above my left eye. Slowly I look up from my breakfast. Lupin grabs Black's wrist. Does he remember? Did he see me back then, really see me? He looked at me strangely from time to time when he was teaching, but back then I thought he was afraid of me finding out. Brightest witch an all that. But now - has magic a specific smell? Not just like ozone, but a signature?

"Hey mum, have you seen my... oh, hey, Mione, didn't know you were here already.", Ron saves the day. He looks a little red around the ears, I notice. I cannot help but smile. He is out of breath, and I just know that he has been eavesdropping and sprinted back from the door, and back to it again for an unsuspicious entrance. He's a good one, really. Maybe the best of us all.

"Hullo." I hug him briefly. "So, where is Harry?" I am sad and tired and cold, and I don't really want to fight with the adults.

"Yes, well, Harry..." Lupin starts. "Harry..."

The nerve keeps twitching. "Yes, Harry, black hair, too small for his age, saw the return of you-know-who two weeks ago, brought dead Cedric back. Harry."

"Harry is supposed to stay with his relatives for now..." Lupin continues, while Black's hand digs into his shoulder.

"Okay. Did somebody but me write him yet?"

"Hermione, dear, we mustn't tell him about Grimmauld Place yet, and he has to remain at Privat Drive for another two weeks..."

"And," my Whisper Voice makes a sudden comeback " _who the flying fuck thought this was a good idea_?"

I floo to the castle. I storm down the corridors. The ghosts move to the sides to let me pass. The gargoyle lets me in. I am the Guardian, after all. He trusts me. I wonder if he would have, if he had known that I intended to yell at Albus Dumbledore.

And this I do. I yell for a good fifteen minutes. I accidentally set fire to one of the chinz chairs with a spontaneous eruption of bluebell flames, and then I yell some more. The spontaneous magic attracts Snape and McGonagall just as moths are attracted by the light. Once they see that there is no immediate danger, they hold back. Maybe they enjoy the show, who knows, who cares, definitely not me.

"AND APART FROM THAT HE IS A PERSON AND NOT YOUR CHESS PAWN!" I finally shriek my conclusion.

Silence. The chair burns quietly in the corner. Slow clap from behind me. These people are fucking kidding me.

"Miss Granger, you are... quite creative when it comes to words. And of course you are right. If you allow me to explain... you too, Severus, Minerva, you asked that question more than once. More, em, quietly, though. Tea?"

So we sit in Dumbledore's office and drink tea, because we are Brits, damnit, and what the hell else are we supposed to do, and listen to him explaining that a powerful protection lies in the sacrifice of Lily Evans Potter- and that her sister, even if unwillingly, carries on this piece of magic. It is weakened now, and you-know-who can touch Harry, but it is still there, and as good as it possibly can be. The tea turns cold, and I calm down, and that is exactly the moment the spy named Mrs. Figg floos in to tell us about a Dementor attack in Privat Drive.

 

***

So, I've always had the headcanon that H. sent her parents away much, much earlier than she was willing to admit. During and after OotP she is hardly ever home, "convinced her parents that skiing isn't her thing" over Christmas, doesn't seem to get letters etc. Maybe Harry just didn't really notice a relationship there, or it happened off-screen, _or_ Hermione made some hard decisions early on.

Oh, and ,Hermione has a mixed heritage, with her mom and grandma being black.

Also, Invictus is from William Ernest Henley. A very beautiful piece of poetry.

And also another detail, if you like: the scene where they sit on the bed has a soundtrack, “I Giorni” by Ludovico Einaudi, to be found here: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvQ3CEBevIE&index=1&list=RDcvQ3CEBevIE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvQ3CEBevIE&index=1&list=RDcvQ3CEBevIE) It is also kind of their theme, for me.

 


	18. implacably from twelve to one.

 

All the arguments are forgotten at once. "Minerva, Ministry. Severus, all potions for a Category F. Miss Granger, please." He holds out his arm and side-alongs me to Privet Drive. Or at least I think this is where we are. I see a small but determined woman push a shaky Harry and his blob of a cousin through the unnatural darkness. A mountain of fear crumbles from my shoulders.

Calmly, Dumbledore draws a silvery scheme over them with his wand. It reminds me of grandmas dream catchers. Then, he performs scans on them, shakes his head, and opens his left hand. With a soft _plopp_ , a potion kit appears in it, and I wonder how he and Severus are doing it, and what a F Category is, and what the hell I am supposed to do here.

"Are we collecting Harry, sir?"

"I am afraid not, dear. The protection still hasn't unfolded completely, and it is absolutely necessary that Harry stays the full time, or it all will be in vain. We will anyway make sure that the house is protected better, which I am asking you to do now, and that neither he nor his cousin are in immediate danger."

A ministry owl zips by.

"And that?"

"We will sort that out, too, of course, but I am afraid I... well... to be honest with you, Miss Granger, I cannot look Harry in the eye right now and then leave him here. And before you offer it, your appearance here would fuel suspicions, when you think about it with a clear head."

By that we have reached the square Dursley house.

"So I am allowed to watch and wait and maybe sent an obscure, not-helpful note _while I am being right here and could answer my best friends questions_?" And even while I shriek that I know that he is right, that Harry would start to mistrust me if I appeared on the spot now, and that Dumbledore will do all he can, that we all do all we can, but that I am tangled too deeply into the net of lies and secrets already to not make Harry hate me in the end.

Or at least so I think. People mostly end up hating me for one reason or another, and I really don't intend on pushing this even more.

So I wait outside and set up every protection spell, charm and even ward I know to turn the ugly boring little house into a magical stronghold from a fairytale, I hex and enchant with shaky hands and a croaked whisper voice, and I whisper how sorry I am into the net I am weaving, and hope that maybe, somehow, Harry will somehow sense a little bit of the protection and feel better. But this is not how any of this works.

The truth is that my friend is all alone in there, that he has been attacked, that he probably suffers right now, and that I am doing nothing. I am doing nothing because Dumbledore wants me to do nothing. I should just screw it all, walk up, rip the door open, scare the shit out of the muggles and camp on the floor. And take whatever punishment I get for that.

Even risk my stay at Hogwarts, risk my secrets to come out, risk being hated for my lies and my actions, being expelled for breaking the rules and losing everything I gave up everything else for, lose both worlds and won't be able to help either.

I do my best to picture the Gryffindor lion eating my insecurities, and prepare to take the step I can't take back, while Albus performs unseen first-aid on the muggles. Maybe Harry feels that he is there, that I am here, that he is not alone.

_Maybe you should stop being so naive._

Maybe I should have faith. Maybe I shouldn't feel responsible for everything.

_Maybe you are. Sirius would not have hesitated for a second if it were James._

Sirius gave away Lupin because he was angry, he went after Pettigrew for revenge instead of going to Harry to protect him, he let himself be consumed by grief and self hated and had himself imprisoned instead of being useful. Not exactly a role model.

_You're getting good at that. Defending your own coldness, I mean. All head. All logic. No compassion left in you, eh?_

"Smart first, brave later," I whisper to myself as tears spring to my eyes. "Clear head. The bigger picture. Harry is safe now."

_Just as you were safe in the room?_

Oh for the love of -

Severus appears next to me almost without a sound.

"Coming to collect the luggage?" I sigh and feel useless. I did not make the step and now the window is closed. What kind of friend am I?

"Albus is checking in with Figg. I'll bring you back now before you do something stupid."

"Maybe I already did," I mumble and wish I had. "I hate that. All of that. All the manipulations. All these _games_. Harry is all alone in there, with these people, and all he had to go through..."

"School starts soon," Severus says, and I know I am supposed to feel better because of this. But it doesn't really get better. In fact, it is more difficult than ever, even after school started. I had hoped for some peace and quiet after Harry's (justified) rage during summer, some information after the adults kept us in the dark about their plans (even me!), some contact to Albus after he avoided all of us (even! me!) ever since the Dementor attack.

But we got nothing. I got nothing. Only Dolores Jane Umbridge as another plate to spin. And this is how this year feels: Spinning plates while dancing on eggshells. Schoolwork, friendships, prefect duties, healing lessons, guard rounds; secrets, half-truths, de-age, doubts. I write coded letters to Victor and Serge, but I miss the calm and encouraging lines my parents used to sent. Now, I am on my own.

Luckily, not all on my own. On friday of the first week, I am out for on an official prefect patrol, and then on an unofficial whisper patrol, and since I am way too pumped from my own worries and not really tired yet, I silently hover to the lab.

Severus is sitting at his normal desk, not in the secret room. The door is open. His council hours have ended a while ago - when he still has the door open around midnight he must be worried for his Slytherins. For a moment I just hover in the doorway, and watch him work. I'm hesitant to disturb him, because when does he have a moment of peace, but then he mumbles: "Damn meddling woman."

Well, I can hardly let that opportunity slip, can I?

"You called?" I plopp into visibility right behind him - and immediately find myself with a wand at my throat. Or where my throat would be if it weren't for the board. Now it's pointed at my stomach.

"Hey, what -uh!" I lose the balance and land on my butt with an ungraceful bump. He looks down at me with a sneer.

"Never sneak up on a spy." He offers me his hand and pulls me up again, while eyeing the board. "Why do you even fly that thing? Your feet are allowed to touch the ground now."

"It is fun. You should try it." I climb back on and hover in a circle around him.

"A flying bat would amuse you, you mean?" He seems annoyed. "Stop that, it's annoying." Confirmed.

"Wow, now we're in some mood."

"Says the girl with rage in her eyes. Do me a favor and don't set my office on fire. There's tea in the kettle, and I might require assistance with some chopping later."

I am about to settle in for an hour of silent brewing when I hear steps. Bugger. He lets my mug disappear and I am Disillusioned and under the roof in no time. And not one second too late because Umbridge waddles in.

"Chm-Chm."

"Dolores."

"Severus." She smiles sweetly. "I thought I heard voices."

"I do believe that you hear voices, yes." I have to bite my lip to avoid giggling.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I believe you. You probably overhead me preparing my next lesson, and cursing the dunderheads that still think wormwood to be a kind of tea sweetener."

"You shouldn't talk like that about our dear children, Severus." She stands close to him (too close for my taste) and makes big cow eyes. Our children. Eww.

_Hex her, turn her to a frog and cook her in a potion, no one would know!_

Um, reason? Really?

_Just do it! Stomp stomp clap, stomp stomp clap, mud on your face, big disgrace..._

Severus steps back, until the desk is between him and her, but leans over. She does the cow eyes again and leans towards him. What exactly am I witnessing? Do I need to obliviate myself later or scratch out my eyes?

Or hers?

"What do you want, Dolores?"

"I need to be sure about your allegiance, Severus." She purrs back. Or tries to purr. Her voice isn't really fit for it. "Who exactly does it belong to?"

"Hogwarts. Always." He leans back, and suddenly looks taller, darker, and as intimidating as I remember him from my very first year. He towers over her, a picture of composed power. You could paint a renaissance picture around him.

Umbridge, automatically standing up straight like a school girl, hisses. Wow. That cat thing really goes too far. "Fine. So that's settled."

"Do you have plans, Dolores?" And suddenly the silk voice. He is playing her, a master at work. I watch and learn.

"Maybe. For Hogwarts, of course. I will remember who does not foolishly wave Dumbledore's banner, when the time comes."

He gives her a small nod. Almost conspiring. "I am sure that, when the time comes, Slytherin will make the smart choice. We always do."

"I am not so sure about that, Severus. There have been rumors about you... opposing authority. The files say, as a student, a young teacher, and most recently..."

He lifts his hands with the same casual looking gesture (and smirk with it) he used when he 'suggested' Harry to duel Draco in second year. I remember practicing expressions as a child ("You're always so closed, Hermione, your peers don't know what to make of you!") and smirk. Need one to know one.

"If you suspect me of anything, Dolores, look around. Catch me, if you can." A slight grin and a challenge. Ewwwww Merlin!

"Ah, no, no need to rush. The official inspection will be enough. Good night, Severus!" She leaves, and Severus closes the door.

I wait a good while until I come down and take care to get visible where he can see me, and to get the open disgust from my face. "So that's settled. I always wondered if you were aware of the effect you can have."

"Of course I am," the smug reply comes immediately. "It's useful. As is the flying," he admits, not so immediately.

"No one ever looks up. And she was pretty... well, focused."

"And you look very focused about not killing her."

And boom, there it is. "Maybe I just should? Or turn her into a toad - it's not that huge mental jump to make, you know?"

"Because she put your precious Potter in detention?" He is leaning against the table again, arms crossed, and now watches _me_.

"No, because _she_ put me in the past, Severus! It's because of her incompetence that I landed there, that I don't have a normal life any more, and that was just the beginning! She's here as Fudges' very own spy, and she _will_ sabotage any fight training we might have gotten, everyone _will_ think Harry is crazy, again, and hate us, again, and the other teachers will do nothing, again, Dumbledore ignores us, and the ropes around our necks are drawn tighter. And she just waddles around and smiles sweetly and is pink and awful and no one sees her as what she is!"

"And that would be?"

"Dangerous. She wants _power_. This is a powder keg!"

"I know."

"I know that you know. You knew about Quirrel, you knew about Professor Lupin, and tried to help us." He shifts uncomfortable, as always when someone points out that he did something good (not that it happens that often), and tries to stare me down. I don't even bother to state back, instead I start pacing up and down the classroom.

"I've had that feeling before, okay? No, feeling is the wrong word. It is like puzzle pieces coming together to form a huge arrow that points at danger long before everyone else notices. Last time I've had this at the Quidditch world cup, and I didn't do anything. And look how that turned out for these poor muggles!"

"Be realistic. If you had told someone they would just have sent you off."

"Yeah," I spit it out, "like they always do, because I'm just a naive, overly sensitive muggleborn girl. But that's just an excuse now, and it is not good enough. I let Harry alone at the Dursleys, I am not going to let him alone again. I will do something."

The moment I say it out loud is the moment I understand that I mean it. It has to be me. Harry understands who she is, but is too full of rage and fear. Ron, who used to be our strategist, doesn't seem to get it. He sees a little, pink, ridiculous woman, mean, but well, just some bureaucracy toad. I don't get it. She hasn't really started yet, so much is true, but...

"Why?"

I jump and accidentally bite my lip. Did I really manage to forget that he is here? Wow. I am really too used to be alone.

He looks amused. "Yes, still here. Constant vigilance, Whisper."

"Yeah, right." Annoyed that I was caught, I turn away and stare at the potion ingredients on the table. "She is the ordinary evil. I mean, everyone knows what do expect from an Acrumantula, or - sorry - from a Death Eater. Meeting them is dangerous, no one would question that. But she... she undermines Harry, makes us feel stupid, makes us look silly, and then smiles sweetly, because she is just doing her job, right? And that's what wears you out in the end. And I am absolutely sure that there will be more. And I am not sure if Albus is going to do something."

I folded my hands behind my back while speaking, holding my wrist, to stop wiggling around, and try to stand straight for the same reason. My reflection in the Erlenmeyer flasks looks somewhat semi-military, and I let go with a sigh. I'm no warrior, and it reminds me of weird dreams I'd rather not have. But maybe I am the strategist now.

"Are you sure about Albus?"

"Yes. I get why he keeps me hidden from the Order, but he avoids me all the time. We used to... sometimes we accidentally met somewhere, and talked. I doubt it was accidentally, actually. He came to talk. Nothing big, no battle plans or something, but it felt as if I started to understand him. Now he just retreats. And for the other teachers, well, even if they believed me for a change, one crow doesn't hack the eye of another."

"Crow?"

"Metaphor. Don't act daft."

"It's muggle. The correct one is: One gnome doesn't bite another's shoe. Try to adapt better if you want to avoid troubles."

Hiding? Really? Assimilating? Totally? I tried so hard when I first got into the magical world, and where did it end? Locked away in silence. No. I don't think assimilating is the right thing. Maybe I have to do this the muggle way. Brains over spells. Power of the masses. Civil disobedience. Do you hear the people sing?

Slowly, for the effect (I may be a little drama queen myself) I turn around. "Maybe I don't want to avoid troubles. Maybe it's time."

"For what?"

"Revolution?"

He smiles at me, the way he does when he has just worked out something brilliant and expects me to keep up. "And with that you don't mean one more frog in the lake, I guess."

"No. You know, if she just disappears, they will sent someone worse. Close down Hogwarts. Separate us from each other and take away the last safety net. No, it has to be... not against her, but _for_ us. I'll have to do that smart, and, and..."

And suddenly I know what to do, and how.

"So you're joining the game." I am not asking what game. When I leave the lab, I have a head full of new plans. The next day, when Umbridge loses a battle of wits to Minerva, I talk to Harry about teaching Defense. He aks me if I'm crazy, but the idea sticks. I can see it.

I ask again a good two weeks later, and when I just happen to let something slip, a whole bunch of people shows up at Hogsmeade at October 5. On October 9, our resistance group meets for the first time, and for the first time since summer I see the fire dim down in Harry's eyes. Not in my reflection, though.

It returns on November 2, when Harry is banned from Quidditch, and it gets worse on November 5 when Hagrid shows us invisible horses that only those who saw death can see. What I predicted happens. People look at Harry as if he's crazy, and every day, which every belittling comment, every independent thought killed, every article in the news, it gets worse. But, just as I predicted, Harry starts to understand that this time, he is not alone. Dumbledore's Army. This will either make it or break it.

I did, in the other hand, not foresee that Arthur Weasley would be attacked during Order duty on December 18. Poppy grabs me right in front of the Gryffindor portal after my usual rounds.

"Come along, girl," she says and drags me to the Hospital Wing. "Arthur has been attacked by a snake two hours ago. Albus, Potter and the Weasleys are at Mungo's, but you're needed downstairs." It only hurts for a split second that I am left out of boys club once more.

"I'll go back to join Derek in a few moments." By the time we have reached her kingdom I am completely out of breath, a few knight armors have jumped out of our way, and a solid stone wall has opened a passage I have never known about. Poppy does not believe in going around obstacles and obstacles do not believe in standing in Poppy's way. She shoves me in.

"But I thought you would need me downstairs?" I ask dumbly.

"You need to learn to _listen_ , girl. You're needed here but not by me." On the huge table where she usually prepares her meds, Severus is setting up experiments. Filtering, decanting, centrifuging, destillating. He is working quickly, highly focused, with calm and steady hands. "I require an assistant," he says without looking up.

And I get it. Snake bite. Of course not a normal snake. Arthur is cursed. "We need a sample of the venom," I say, and Poppy points at a small phial with a clear, bright, but nevertheless cruelly deadly liquid.

"I extracted it but the wounds don't respond to treatment."

"How-"

"I dont know. You're the geniuses. _Work_." With that she hurries into the floo to go back to the hospital.

"Derek McHerdsman," Severus answers my unasked question. "Head Potion Master and lead of Poison Redeem at St. Mungo's. It's really bad when he asks for _me,_ and with bad I mean borderline impossible." I don't say anything to that, instead I take out the knives and pipettes and align them in the way he prefers.

"He was my tutor," Severus explains. He does these things in his own time.

"Hated it how young you got your potion mastery?" I guess. Dad went through something similar.

"That and everything I did, said, or thought. Hated it that I was never wrong. That I _knew_ things."

A flash of adrenaline and passion rushes through my veins. "Well _I_ don't hate any of that. And sure as hell neither Arthur nor his kids or their many friends will hate it when you save him now."

"We. When we save him now. And you're wrong, because they will neither know nor care."

I look up and our eyes meet. I was wrong - _this_ is how they should paint him. In the middle of the night, sleep-deprived, pale, looking hollow in the bad lighting of gas flames and surrounded by fumes, hair tied back and only in pants and frock coat, and burning eyes and a focus as radiant as the sun, saving a man's life, because he is the only one who can do it.

"Borderline impossible is just my thing," I say and smile and I feel that it is is a wolfish smile. And then we get to work, side by side, hand in hand, as we have often before, as it is supposed to be. By two in the morning we have tried all the classic methods of anti-venom generation without even a hint of success, by four we are desperate and so angry that we hiss vulgarities at each other, the books and the setup, by five in the morning we use pepper-ups on each other, by seven I conjure a muggle energy drink, pour it in my coffee and down it in one go, but by nine o'clock on December 19 we actually made it.

Poppy, with her incredible instinct, floos in, takes the potion, thanks us with a grim nod and is gone within a minute. We have enough discipline to turn down the flames and clean up the equipment, and then we collapse on the nearest hospital beds, next to each other.

  


I'd love to say that after Arthur came back to his family, everything was well. That everyone was happy, and the danger for this year was defeated, and the Order of the Phoenix accepted us as members, and Albus told us everything we needed to know, and Umbridge was kicked out and Severus and me miraculously became a happy couple. But that's not how any if this works. At least not in this version of reality.

The only thing that is okay by February 10 is my friendship with Severus. We meet several times a week, and by now it is the only thing that keeps me sane. I pop into Narnia in the early morning of that day, and find two mugs of coffee waiting on the wooden table. Severus is staring out of the lake window. I grab the mugs, step next to him, and hand him his.

"Aren't you tired of me yet?" He snaps as a good morning.

"Yes, I slept well, thank you. And what dragon was chewing on your liver? Umbridge again?"

"Yes. Umbridge. Also, Order meeting."

"Before dawn? Cruel."

"Yes. I could very well survive without the weekly everything-has -been-said-but-not -by-everyone ego show. And no meeting without Black and the werewolf discussing Potters shenanigans. Black assumes you made a beginners mistake with the meeting at the Hog's Head, by the way. The werewolf is on your side, if you care."

Immediately I am on his level of annoyance. Yes, Black and Lupin discussing my actions is exactly what I need before I even had breakfast. "Of course I did. I'm just a baby nerd that plays revolution, right? It's not that Harry would benefit in any way from the attention he gets from his admired godfather and DADA-Professor after they found out, nevermind the encouragement, or recognition of his abilities."

"So you risked your secret for the sake of Potter being pampered?"

"Severus," and I put the whole weight of me using his given name into that, "what do you think this whole business is about?"

"You and your little friends reenacting Les Mis? I was actually curious about that." The sneer is only half believable. And I stare in my mug and wish that it was late night instead of early morning. Somehow it is easier to tell ugly truths at night. But we do that a lot, now. Discussions and Occlumency before the day begins.

"Okay, if you insist. Don't get me wrong, I hate Umbridge as much as anyone, probably more, but in the bigger picture, she is not that important. I mean, she is horrible, and cruel, and the opposite of everything a teacher should be, but..."

I take a deep breath and do my best to enrol what my mind came up with, sure that he and only he won't judge me for it. "First I thought, a few photos of the scarred kid's hands in the Quibbler and the big families would take care of her for me, Neville's grandma ahead, riding a Hungarian Horntail." He snickers at that, and I allow myself a small grin.

"But you didn't do that."

"I didn't. I mean, this whole situation is... _practice_."

"That's cold."

"I... I mean..."

"That wasn't meant as a critique. Go on."

I swallow down my own doubts and bring it to an end. "Oppression. Lies. Abuse of power. She is the training version of what we're about to face. But Dolores herself? She is not endgame. We both know who that will be, and soon."

No more sniggering now. He refills our mugs. "We can't avoid that confrontation. We never could. Actually I wonder why the safest place on earth and the most powerful wizard alive can't protect a boy from a psychopath, but since it seems to be written in the stars or something, we need to be prepared. "

I bite my lip. The next part is the one that makes my head hurt. The one that feels like the worst kind of manipulation. "And when the time comes we'll need to know who we can trust, who will break the rules for us. And Harry has to know that he is not alone. He is good, and smart, and brave, and he will play a major role in this, but he needs us to get there. But he needs to learn how to trust others to be with him. And I think that, with this _bigger picture_ in mind, I have to stand through the small evils. I have to allow the situation to unfold. To escalate, if it will. And to stand by Harry with any means necessary."

"If this is about guilt, you don't have to..."

"Wrong," I interrupt, "I absolutely have to. I let you down in the past, I'm not gonna do it again."

"It's not like you have had a choice there, anyway."

"I still should have found a way. I should have had an emergency plan, or several. It is not excusable. I know I can't change that, but I can change the situation now for Harry. You should see him there, when we meet. He is... "

"His unbearable prancing self?" Severus snaps.

"He is not like James at all," I answer softly. "He went through a lot of shit in his life, but it only made him... kind. Anger management issues, yes, but he tries to help. Does stuff for people without expecting thanks. He never expects people to do anything for him, or even to like him. Or just to acknowledge his existence. Reminds me of you, kind of."

"Then I must be doing it wrong." That is all he says, and he says it gently. No judgement. No call out. Maybe he even thinks what I do is right.

I smile now, glad that I got it off my chest. "Occlumency?" It is calming, still somewhat intimate, but purely innocent, and also a valuable skill. We go through it in perfect sync. Now that had taken a while. I wonder where he got it from, and if he had ever heard of muggle Tai Chi. He snorts as an answer.

"Do you see me standing on a lovely green fields surrounded by silk dressed muggles that talk about the flow of the energies?"

"Well, you talk about the flow of the energies. And you wear silk," I answer slowly.

"No one likes a know-it-all, you know?" He curls his lips, and almost smiles.

"Looks like you do. And I don't know it all. I would like to know where you got this routine from, though." I tilt my head and try some puppy eyes. He rolls his black eyes in return.

"Learned it on a field trip. A natural taught me." Oh, great. The field again. Probably the damn strawberry field, where the stupid Bond Girl did Tai Chi in white silk in the morning sun. Why did I even ask?

 _To be fair, it does work. No trigger alert or magical flames since you started_.

I really don't want to be fair, though. "Severus?"

"What is it now?" He has stepped to one of the shelves after the routine, and has his back to me. I am about to break the rules of no heavy topics again, and he seems to sense it. His shoulder have tensed already.

"Do you try and teach Harry this way? Because, well, I feel calm after it, and he just looks done and exhausted."

"No."

"Why?"

"He learns like I learned."

"From the book I faked in the seventies?" I ask innocently, but still get a frown for that. I am really pushing the line, hinting (well, blundering) at that.

"If you insist on knowing, Miss Noisy, he is learning the way I was trained..." he hesitates only a split second "during the First War. Considering his upbringing and his natural ability to resists the Unvorgivables, a more duelist approach seemed logical. Also, he has to learn to control his pathetic emotions while facing an enemy, not mollycoddled in a blanket."

"And did you tell him why you chose the approach? Harry goes with basically anything as long as he knows why." The words are out before I can overthink them.

"Is that so? Well, maybe it would interest you to know that he apparently resists learning at any price. Go try yourself, if you understand Potter that well."

"No reason to snap at me like that. It is also not my fault that Dumbledore paired you two up. And for the record, every time I try to talk to him about it, he completely blocks me."

He looks to damn content at that, like a cat that just knocked over your glass while holding eye contact. Bloody bat. "Well, what a pity, then my method it is. Also, since I am going to be quite busy with all of this, Albus has decided that you'll have a growing spurt within the next three months. You can slowly decrease the de-age. Oh, and I managed to dim down the side effects of the transition time to just a light itch."

Now that's a bomb to drop after downright mocking me! "You did?"

"Always that tone of surprise," Severus sneers. "It's impressive how much I can do when not forced to spent my time with dunderheads that explode a cauldron every five minutes." He throws me a phial.

Used to that by now, I pluck it from the air without problems. Since it is almost de-age-time, I try my dose right here. It tastes more like peppermint now, and there is a hint of honey, and really, it only itches a little bit. "Wow, that's amazing, I think I just fell in love with you," I say with fake puppy-eyes. Take that for mocking me!

"Better don't do that to yourself, and to Rita Skeeter, or her head will explode." He lifts an eyebrow.

"I think the drama with her is over. She won't bug us any longer. But for real, thank you."

"I should really take points for that terrible pun. Apart from that, happy birthday or whatever, and if you excuse me now, I have children to terrorize. Close the door when you go." He bows sarcastically, I roll my eyes, and he disappears.

_Wait. Did you just tell Professor Severus Snape that you fell in love with him, disguised as a joke?_

Um. Oh Merlin. OH MERLIN. O H M E R L I N. Okay, okay, don't panic, deep breaths. It was banter, we're good. Our talks always go back-and-forth like Ping-Pong. He may have caught something from my mind anyway by now, and doesn't seem to bother. Well, at this point I don't really care any more, too, the year is bad enough at is is.

He sticks his head in the room again while I still stand mortified. "Hey, Jean Valjean? Whatever you plan next, take care."

"You too... when this whole thing goes to the dogs I don't need you between the lines of fire."

He smirks. "Well, too bad, the line of fire is exactly my thing."

 

***

Wow, can't believe I finally posted this. This chapter went through more transitions than anything else in the story. So, H. tries to protect by playing the game. Will it haunt her? Definitely. Will it come around and bite her in the ass? Let's see.

 


	19. We raise our arguments like sitting ducks

 

The whole thing actually did go to the dogs soon enough, and against better judgement I find myself heading towards the Ministry of Magic. Once again I miscalculated. I had hoped that Harry would listen to sense and logic and arguments, and that he'd trust me enough to listen to me, but his emotions are too strong. As is his desperation for a family, any family - but who am I to judge? I have done worse to protect mine.

So now I am riding an invisible horse in the night sky, and pray to everyone who is listening that I was not all mistaken, and that Severus has the chance to play this right, and that he _will_ save Sirius now for the sake of Harry, and that he _did_ alert the Order. Because one of us has to be the good one, and today that's not going to be me.

Deep in my heart I know that I am not here for Sirius. He is important to Harry, and does his best for him, and paid in Askaban for all the things he did, but for me the night under the full moon is still too close - in fact I see it every time I close my eyes without occluding for at least half an hour first. No more gentle drift to the dreamland, vision blurry from the lines of a book. Teeth and red eyes instead. Cool prank, Padfoot. Basically I just came to blow shit up and take care of Harry.

For both I get the chance once we set foot into the ministry. Of course it is a trap. What else would it be. We run from Lucius and his underlings ( _please let it not be Severus under these masks - please_ ) through weird rooms, and I worry for my friends, and try to take care of all of them at once, circling around them like an inexperienced Sheppard dog while we see the secret heart of the magical world.

Then, suddenly, Bellatrix Lestrange is here. She points her wand at Harry, and for once in my life I am not petrified - maybe the moonlight finished that part of me for good. I jump. I push Harry right through the door into another room, but I don't make it there myself. I get the full blow. Painfully, I crash into a shelf of Time-Turners, glass shatters, the thin fabric of Severus' cloak disguised as school robes gives in immediately. The glass breaks open my skin, my back, arms, legs, backs of my knees, hips, neck, - _pain_ \- and the sand breaks free from the destroyed ward tattoos, and in horrible slow-motion I see a Time-Turner fall, and the rings turn and turn, and it gets so quiet I can only hear the metal scratch, and a golden particle of light wanders around the turning circles. The necklace gets tangled in my hair. The Time-Turner hits the ground with a soft chime that could just as well be all the bells of St. Paul's. Immediately I feel a familiar, mighty, unstoppable pull.

 _Oh, Harry, take care_ , is all I can think before time swallows me with a vhoop. Then twirling, ripping and turning me, colours running crazy, whiteout, blackout, pain, grey, black, grey, slowly contoured, and finally a room.

I land on a hard ground. All is quiet.

I sit up and look around. The room looks different, and I don't mean the lack of Death Eaters. Dust twirls, there are voices outside. The fight is years away, I understand. I know I should be terrified, but all I can think is "fucking again?!"

Well, to be fair, after Umbridge and the flight it had been pretty short and kind of anti-climatic, up to now.

I take a deep breath and lose the grip I had on my wand. "Tempus, Date" I demand and swing it clockwise, three times.

The golden letters tell me that it's four in the morning, December 12, 1981.

The year hits me like a bucket of cold water. Harry has just been orphaned. This is the beginning of this story. And I really need to get away before I do something stupid. Dumbledore. I need Dumbledore.

 _All will be well_. I know that I can be placed exactly when and where I want to return to, just as we did it the first time. Maybe I can even reappear behind Bellatrix and kick her satin-clenched butt. Of course Dumbledore would know about the fight then, but that wouldn't do any harm, would it?

_No need to panik at all. You know the drill._

I'm not panicking.

_Right. You time jumped, and before that you fought Death Eaters, and before that you fed Umbridge to the creatures of the forest, and before that you wrote exams, and before that you made the twins start a riot, and you are still calm. Are you dead inside or something?_

Are you never satisfied? You bitch at me for not losing it?

_It's weird, that's all._

Maybe I'm just too fed up with everything right now. Maybe I need a break. Disappear into the forest like I wanted to, back in the Room. With a deep sigh I pick myself up, heal my cuts with the careless experience I gained under Poppy's watchful eyes, put on the Disillusionment, accio the time sand spilled around me in the tiny unbreakable jar I always carry around in my bag, and transfigure my wooden bracelet back to the hoverboard. My bag also holds several pens, and the black muggle marker helps me fix the stains on my tattoos. Hello there again, time sand ward.

The next step is to get out of that room undetected. I happen to know that there is a morning and a night patrol (it helps to listen to Arthur), and that would be my chance to slip out. Heaven knows I do have practice in travelling unseen.

While I wait for someone to enter, safe up a shelf, I play with the time sand under my skin. I am not surprised that it's more now - I hit the shelf with the Time-Turners pretty hard, crushed a lot of them, and crash landed into the sheds. It may be even enough for a second permanent ward.

The idea is so obvious that it is embarrassing how long I need: I am in the Time-Turner Room of the Ministry, in the past, nothing is broken. The door is locked. There was no alarm, and the security here is alarmingly weak... how long would it take them to find out if one of them is missing? That break I may need could be spent without anyone noticing...

When the patrol comes, invisible me isn't the only thing that leaves the room. The Ministry is designed to keep people from breaking in, not getting out. And not even the anti-break-in is very well done, so leaving is not a problem. All the security charms are anchored on the ground. I can see their golden flow as I pull the time sand in the Seeing Ward. Okay, it is not that illogical. Wizards don't fly around on brooms inside, just as muggles don't play basketball inside. It's a social norm, so everyone just assumes that people walk, or Apperate, and they have spells for _that_. They have a lot to learn about assumptions, and underestimating the inventive minds of the enemy.

Am I the enemy now? Well, I guess I am. After all, I am not a legal adult inhabitant of this time period. Even tough I was never really in danger, I am glad as I leave the Ministry without an incident. After a quick check of the night sky (half moon), I apperate to the Shrieking Shack.

From the Shack on I hover through the night, until I am suddenly crashed out of thin air.

Uff. The castle wards did recognize me, and let me pass several meters ago, but the phoenix didn't. Or maybe he did and is just an asshole. I, too, have to learn a lot about assumptions, as it seems.

 _Crack_. "Miss Granger, I assume?"

I let go of what's left from my Disillusionment. Collisions and invisibility don't mix.

"Sir."

Dumbledore helps me up. "Did your journey go wrong? No, I see you are older."

"Another crash, sir, in my sixth year. You don't want to know. When am I?" Not that I don't know, I just want to know if he's going to tell me. This isn't the Dumbledore I am mad at yet. Not the one that left us alone with Umbridge for months.

"December 12, 81. I'm glad you could come. You may assist me with a delicate little problem here, my lionheart."

Unfair. That, now... After everything he did! I am trying to object, but I feel my resistance melt in blue twinkling eyes like snow in July. King and Lionheart, in easier times, where the Light is the Light and the Dark is the Dark... do I really long for that so badly? Or just for some recognition?

Still. December 81. Oh Merlin, does he want me to raise Harry?! And how could I refuse, knowing what I know about the Dursleys?

"Sir, I just time-jumped..." The date feels like a lump in my throat.

"What is it with you and time, dear girl? Do you happen to watch that muggle show, Doctor Who?" He interrupts me joyfully, but even with my limited skills to catch his mood, I feel that the joy is fake.

"No, sorry, sir. I have never been one for the telly," I admit. My parents only ever let me see enough to understand the concept. I am quick at concepts, and I wasn't smart enough to not let that show. Apart from the Christmas movie splurge, I am an unwritten sheet when it comes to pop culture.

"Give it a try when you are back. It's rather good. How is your jaw? Fawkes got you quite hard, I am afraid."

"Sir, can you return me again?" There is a glitter in his eyes I don't like; they shine like black bugs in his pale, worn-out face. King and Lionheart, or chess player and pawn? A general and his officer, or just a foot soldier, cannon fodder? Is this still war? Did the war ever stop for him?

"Let's go to my office." Once in his office, I refuse to sit down the chair opposite to his desk; I am not a student. If he wants to play Arthur & Lancelot, I'll stand next to the chair where I belong.

"Well, my dear. If I remember correctly, you have formed quite a bond towards my former student, Severus Snape?"

Okay. Not Harry, then. Worse. "I am not helping you to manipulate him in any way, sir, even if that means I have to stay alone in that room forever. With all due respect, sir, but no." Fuck off.

"Hermione, it is not about convincing him to do anything against his will. I have a simple question to ask: Is Severus Snape alive in your time?"

 

***

 

"What kind of girl's name is Felix?"

"It's Felicitas Ulla Corn-Karate, if you insist."

The chubby man behind the bar swallows and looks away, spreading dirt and probably all sorts of germs from one side of the bar to the other with a filthy cloth. I hear a snicker behind me. Slowly, I turn around, and give my transfigured almond-eyes a very angry glare. The man I glare at is no one else than Mad-Eye Moody.

"Let her be, Tom." He _klonks_ over to us, not as quick on his wooden leg as he is in my right time. It seems like a rule that every English speaking barman is named Tom, I think.

"Firewhiskey, please, for me and the lass." I accept the drink. Heaven knows after another week in this piece of hell posing as a forest I need one. "Head hunting, or searching for loved ones, lassie?"

"Both."

"Oi, twisted." He grins. I catch myself grinning back. It is good to see a familiar face, even if it's a one-sided joy. The whiskey comes, and I feel the slight tingle of the magical glass as it checks my age. Nothing to fear here. With 21, I am an adult in every country now, wizard or muggle.

I take a sip. It tastes quite good, considering the fact that the little bar looks like a place that wouldn't even be worth the matches needed to burn it down. "And you? Auror?" Hehe. Educated guess.

"Usually. Head-hunting right now, too. Alastor Moody is the name. You really went far to let your initials spell FUCK, I wonder how you convinced your agency to let that slip. They wouldn't allow that for money, my bosses that is, the sticks they shoved up their asses as a backbone would snap."

"That's my real name," I say in a serious tone.

Moody was drinking, now he is coughing. "Oh Merlin, really? I..."

"Kidding." I grin and he relaxes. "I'm independent, though. Seen this wizard?" I show him a photo of Severus. It's a muggle picture so he has no chance to run out of the frame.

"Several times, and I liked his ugly face best behind the cage bars at his hearing. But if 'yer after him, lassie, you're wasting 'yer time." This isn't his first drink, and his heavy tongue keeps falling back to his home accent. "Dumbledore bails him out all the time, nothing to gain here."

I shrug and play it cool, as I have trained to. "Makes no sense to bail out a head when the body is elsewhere."

Moody laughs and wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Yer a dark one, eh, lassie?" Even after a whole year undercover, I it still astonishes me how my appearance influences people's reactions. It's the Jule Ball all over again. From the corner of my eye, I check myself in the mirror behind the dirty counter. My skin is deep brown, bronzed from the constant exposure to the sun, black curls frizzle out of two braids, and my darker voice makes everything I say more interesting (apparently). The voice is my own, actually, I have only practiced to speak some octaves deeper. Use as less magic as possible, Kingsley Shacklebold told me, _use what you have_ , _start where you are._

If Dumbledore hadn't chosen him to teach me transforming spells, I would have never accepted this kind of cover. Ethnics are a sensitive topic in the muggle world, and covering as someone non-light still feels terribly disrespectful and in-sensitive, just a total asshole move to make, unfair to everyone who lives through the daily discrimination that comes with real dark skin, even though I have always wished to look more like my grandma. I have still no clue what she would think about that. If she would be proud, or hurt, or repelled, or touched, or wouldn't care at all. I know mum and dad wouldn't care, as long as I'm happy.

Shacklebold, who wears a huge Afro, tried to convince me otherwise. He said that my body would never accept the changes so willfully if I had no matching heritage DNA ('use what you have'), and the glamour charms would never stay in place if I had any unfriendly feelings against dark skin. Apparently this is why wizards and witches don't just cover up as their enemies and fuck shit up with their faces on all the time - the body resists transformations when there is aversion. There is always a nice little potion for that, of course, but a lot can go wrong, as we know. Meow.

Anyway, without my cover, I doubt that anyone would have taken me serious in muggle military pants, a dragonhide vest and fingerless gloves and naked arms, drinking Whiskey and joking about freeing people from their own heads. On the downside, apparently now everyone feels the need to comment on my dark, twisted, whatever character with half-fear and half-admiration. It is weird, really, what looks do.

By the way, looks. I have to admit that Moody is a good-looking man in this time. Without his magical eye, his face has strong contours. He just looks strong in general; capable. Competent. Or maybe I have been out in the forest for too long now.

"What's that on your neck, love? Tattoos?"

Ah, constant vigilance. Good old Moody. "Yes. Wards."

"A little esoteric."

"Works for me. So, how about my prey?"

"Maybe I'm after him meself?"

"You told me seconds ago there's nothing to gain with him." I smile to that, but I need to mark my tree.

"Eh, right. Sharp one, are you not?" At least some things never change. "We cross paths and curses every now and then. Last time I met him..." He fumbles out a muggle reporter notebook, flips it with experience, and draws a little map of a nearby village. "You travel muggle, lass? Many Ley Lines crossing there, messing with Apparition."

"Thanks, Alastor. My traces were about to get cold. I owe you one."

"Nevermind, dove. Don't let that slimeball blow you up, will you? Say what you want about Tommy and the Riddles, they do know their spells."

"Don't worry. I can deal."

Much later that night, I put another mark down in my calendar. Fifteen months, nine days, and tomorrow I'll have him. Finally, I can be sure. I know how to trace, how to track, and most importantly, I know how he _thinks_ , and how to follow his steps. Only that I had been too slow, and he had been to quick and too smart, and it had been more of an absurd reverse version of Pop Goes The Weasel than a real hunt. But now he seems to run out of patience, and starts to make mistakes.

I know how to hide, protect, and even ward a camp, and therefore how to find, crack, and open a camp. I actually did find several camps, and thanks to invisible surprise attacks from above, caught some minor Death Eaters on the run. Kinglsey taught me good. I am still living off the reward money.

Severus is a whole different story. He Apparated out on Dumbledore after only one month of teaching, after some petty fight, and disappeared to an unknown destination. Since the magical trace had already gone cold when I time-jumped (or crashed), all what is left for me was to try and figure out what he would do, and then do the same and hope for another hint. During the last year I have been jumping from hint to hint like a child on the playground, enthusiastically swinging, always hoping to grab another rung next instead of thin air.

And now, finally, I got him. I feel it prickling in my thumbs. Something wicked this way comes. Well, that's me now. The Wicked Witch of the Woods.

Wickedly, I broke into a hunter's hut, only a few miles from the village where Moody saw him last. Just for tonight, to prepare. Usually I try to respect other people's property, but it is easier to protect a room that is already there, than to start from scratch. Also, I never really liked hunters. Oh, the irony.

I ward the whole hut, and enhance the small bed to the queen size I deserve, and shoo my notes to the wooden wall. The scraps of paper, lists and notes, pins and the cliché red yarn know the drill and unfold themselves as a plan. I set new pins, and strap the yarn on it, and there it is: Hair cross. My heart starts beating quicker. Months of research, the development of my Point-Me spell to follow a magical trace, lost after each Apparition, always a new start after each dead end, and the really dark corners these dead ends were, the weeks of walking, hovering, searching, the frustration. Oh my, the frustration.

But now I've got him. Behind the tiny village there is only forest, and after that there are mountains. I lay a magical map over the muggle one. Great. Acrumantula territory. Considering the amount of dark creatures in this country it is absurdly pretty, with the bright blue lakes and natural forests, the mountains and the wide blue skies.

Still, I won't be too sad about leaving it behind. "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll catch you tomorrow," I hum.

_That's getting out of hand, H._

Well, I have to train my voice if I don't want to lose it. Unsaid spells are not that easy. I lay back on the bed (what a luxury), cross my arms under my head, and stare at the ceiling. I have a feeling that this is my last chance. Maybe, if he decides to leave this place, too, he will just leave Europe and give up his own hunt.

I know what he is hunting. I'm afraid I know why. And I also suspect what it would mean for him to give up. Still, I have to plan for that. And a feeling that he's in for the big jump. Australia is still an option, and America has an interesting potion scene, and I am quite the adventurer now, but that would be too huge, even for me.

Even for me.

Well. Severus is at Hogwarts in my time, so I did find him. Will find him. Will have found him. Tomorrow. I close my eyes, and after what feels only five minutes my alarm goes off. I wash my face with the rain water from the short night, re-do my braids, and jump back into my boots. Sleeping in clothes is something you learn quickly in the forest. You learn many things quickly in the forest.

The birds start singing as I drink strong coffee, French press. Magic only brings you so far, and it cannot make good coffee. Gamp, maybe, or just the universe insisting that _some_ things are holy. No need for other breakfast, though. Getting food down in the morning has been difficult ever since the room. Well. I'll eat when I'm hungry, and now I'm hunting. I prepare a few things, because for the first time since I started to follow his trace, I plan to return to yesterday's camp.

"Point-me", I say and focus on the radiant energy I felt back then in Narnia, after my breakdown, I focus on black eyes that light up ever so slightly when a whispered voice greeted him in the library. The wand spins, swings, and then points steadily in the direction of the rising sun. Steadfast on my hoverboard, I am making my way downtown. It leads me right towards the Acrumantula nest. Of course it does.

As it is, they have set their nest right in the crossing of three Ley Lines. Usually, I like the Ley Lines. They keep the magical flow in the whole of Great Britain at bay, making the country one of the most reliable magical sources in the whole world. A network, natural, straightened and smoothed out by the first druids, order in a chaos like a spider's web.

Sometimes at night, when I am at a high point, I allow myself to change to the Seeing Ward and just look at it. It is incredibly beautiful. Right now, well, it sucks. The magic is bundled there at the knot point, screwing with Apparition, Point-Me, and anything else. Even my board becomes unsteady, I'll soon need to put it away. Climbing a tree, I can easily oversee the nest, and with a poke to the Seeing Ward I can also see the magic twirling in a natural kettle, surrounded by hills and high rocks.

Wow. Now _that's_ a place to put a nest, if there's any. I'll need a damn good plan to get out of there again, with only small zig-zag paths to follow, when you cannot Apperate, or hover, or rely on brooms or carpets... Why is Severus always jumping straight into the biggest mess around? And why is it me who has to follow? I wanted to guard the castle, not some runaway potions genius.

Chewing on my lip, I stare at the tiny beaded purse I carry, and wonder if something is in there that might help me. It was Mom's. Everyone needs something to hold on to. Hold on to... Ha. Of course.

A few spells later I hover up a little hill, ducked low on the board, getting ready to play. I like the way I can act now. I know that Severus will be alive, and I will be alive. In this vortex, in this emptiness that is out of time and space, anything is possible. Right now I am out of consequences. For once, I am not afraid. For once I don't see a giant mind map with all possible outcomes of every step, I am not petrified by all that could go wrong. And it feels good. So good that I don't even get nervous when the first spiders appear. It only means I am closer to the nest's core, where I see a bright strand of magic shining out.

There he is, the huge insects have trapped him for me already. Bingo. I'm going to use a basic wind-blow-spell. Simple, hard hits that throw them back several feet without really hurting them. Acrumantula go the way of the smallest resistance, set traps and lure in corners where they stay, unless disturbed. My plan is simple: Get the disturbance out of their nest and leave.

What I see when I enter the scene is not really what I expected. I do see Severus in the middle of the bloody spiders. But he does not only look very different in his muggle clothing - he moves differently, behaves differently, fights differently. I have seen his fighting style, then and in the future, and it had and will have nothing to do with this twirling, turning storm of a warrior that he is now, as he casts stupors and off-putters like a blizzard, his sun-dried, curly, rich hair open in his face. He can't possibly _see_ like that, so he must be _feeling_ his surroundings, reacting to instincts and lead by magic at the top of his game. That man isn't fighting for his life. That man is having a fucking _blast_ . Boasting bastard. I shake my head. No guy with shoulder-long curls should look _that_ intimidating. It's not fair.

He twirls again on the sandy ground, shouting something that isn't answered. I have passed the line of spider guards now, and, safe for the moment (what they don't see doesn't exist), I look down to the nest to watch. The benefits of higher ground hide me, but don't help the spiders that circle irritated around the eye of the taifun Severus has set for himself.

He crosses his arms over is head, and then slams them back. The energy he has set free is so strong that it throws him on a knee, and the spiders fall back like normal spiders, when a brute force stamps the wooden floor beneath them. Even I am taken so hard by the shock wave that I have to jump off the board to prevent falling.

As soon as my feet touch the ground he knows I am there. "He there, wizard! Join me or fight me, just don't linger around in the shadow like a bore!"

Bore? Ha! I make up my mind within seconds, save my board as a bracelet, cushion my feet and knees with a swing of wand, and just jump. I land next to him, soft like a cat, and get up immediately. We scan each other with the knowing gaze of people that have to make quick decisions, and apparently he likes what he sees. Without so much as a word we position ourselves as the angry spiders come back. "Show me what you've got, then," he teases, and I am all in.

For a while we happily throw them back in teamwork, but soon the spider backup appears - up to now, we were only battling hedgelings, and now the adults come up. They swiftly scurry towards us. "Regret the jump already, Lady?"

"Nope. And I'm no lady, I'm Felix."

"Severus. Not so lucky now, are you? Eaten by spiders before we can get to know each other, what a pity." His voice is silky and deep, as it is in the future, but there is no disdain in it. He is - excited?

"Giving up already? It's just spiders, and fire kills everything," I tease back.

"I don't want to destroy them, I need answers, but you wouldn't understand, and I don't now how to get them. Better get out now, lucky charm." We move in a tight circle, so we both can see everything that happens.

"And leave all the fun to you? Boring. When I get your answers, drinks are on you." I am quite confident, this isn't my first fight against them, after all, and last time I was only a scared kid.

"This is over, girl, the cards are played. We better leave."

"Eh. Wait for it." In fights, Harry is led by details and instincts, Ron by determination and power, and Severus apparently by the damn _Force_ , since he moves like a bloody Jedi Knight, but I think in _patterns._ That makes me weak when I face a lunatic like Bella, but now it is quite an advantage. Acrumantula operate in structures like a beehive or ant hill, all you have to do is look through the swarming mass of gross single insects, and see the whole picture. I get it quite fast.

With quick and pointed spells I take the spiders out of their rasta, directly attack the several group leaders of the angry mob, and turn the stony ground they stand on into sand. Disoriented they instinctively turn to their matriarch and expose her to me with that. I raise my wand at her, let the sand in front of her twirl, so she flinches back. "Intruders, leave" she hisses, and I risk a split second to let my eyes fly to Severus. He looks impressed. With a tiny gesture I leave the stage to him.

"I mean no harm to you or your nest! I search for an evil spirit, who lives in the bodies of animals, empties them, and leaves them to die. Have you heard of him?" Severus shouts.

"We do not care for the fuss of two-leggers, and what is empty is easy prey," the matriarch enlightens us. Well, at least she is honest.

"What if that spirit comes after your own? Tell me where he is and I end him!"

"Nothing moves around my threats without my knowing, two-legger. We do not need protection from your kind. But you will help... you will feed our youngest... as for the other, who can see the net, we cannot let it leave..."

It? Who's an it, Tarantula? "It's quite entertaining for a first date," I say to Severus in a light tone, "but I suggest we leave now."

"This is a Ley Cross, we cannot Apperate."

Now I grin. "Oh no, if only I had thought of that before I came here. Ah, wait, I did. There is a portkey at the entrance, we have to get to the three red rocks over there, then I can Accio it without having it tangled."

"I'm starting to like you." This is the moment the spiders chose to attack. We have our wands up immediately. Back to back, we push them away as a team, slowly circling each other on our way to the nests entrance. My wards prickle and my adrenalin flashes.

 _It starts to get dangerous, they are re-forming around the Old Lady_ , reason nags.

With a wave of wand, I shrink the matriarch. It is not a permanent change (I have no interest in destroying the fragile eco system of the forest's magical inhabitants), but enough to confuse the heck out of her pack. They recognize each other by size first, I just put the equivalent of a blond wig on her. Their attack crumbles and breaks and we reach the stones, my handbag comes flying, I grab Severus' hand as we jump towards it, and we are gone.

 

***

Tadaa. Another one. And H. is back in the past.

 


	20. to knock them down with logic or with luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Sorry it took me so long. Real life needed attention. No warnings for this one, I guess. Spider mention, but we've had these before.

 

We fall into high, soft grass at the spot where I camped last night, still holding hands. Severus lands on his back, I land, a little softer, on him. Good thing we didn't crash into the roof of the little hunter's hut, or the trees, or bushes around. For once, things follow the plan.

"Uffff. You don't waste time, do you, Lucky Charm?" He winks at me. Who the hell are you and what did you do with awkward Baby Snake and Super-Composed Professor Bat? I'll need a new name for 20-something-years-old-Jedi, I guess.

"Buy me that drink first." I wink back, roll off him, and lay on my back. Adrenalin discharges in a giggle, and I can hardly believe that I managed to sneak the tracking amulet into his pocket. Following the Muggle spy movie version of electronic tracking, I have linked a special, one-of-a-kind Sickle as a kind of transmitter to the Point-Me spell. Point-Me is limited to thirty-something miles and hopeless after Apparition, but as long as he'll have the coin, I will be able to find him. And the Sickle is bewitched to slip through your fingers when you try to get rid of it. Hehe. I only have to take care that no one ever follows my train of thought here, or hiding would be impossible in the war to come. And since I've hidden people myself that I need to remain in secrecy... but honestly. When have people ever bothered to follow my train of thought, apart from that one moment with the book page and the pipes?

It is weird. Out here, in the wild, I think of my parents more than ever. Maybe because I always felt the strongest connection to them when we were abroad, mum sketching plants and dad listening to what he calls "the song of the trees". That specific noise bark and wood make when they sway in the wind, like ships in the harbour, and suddenly there are grey beaches under grey skies in my head, and seagulls crying so loud that the sound of my breaking heart is washed away with the waves. Mum. Dad. They don't know I exist in my time, and they live the dream they had before they had me, Doctors Without Frontiers somewhere far south, with changed features and the same souls. Do they miss what they don't know?

There is a motion next to me and I am snapped back to reality in less than a second. Severus. The young, strong, desperate Severus, with a hard glow in his black eyes and wavy sun-dried hair, managed to sit up and looks at me. I am back in my role immediately, cross my arms under my head, and grin up to him.

"Gotcha."

He irks an eyebrow. "You do not intend to tell me you are a snatcher."

"Pffff. Snatcher. Bounty Hunter."

"A bounty hunter?!"

" _The_ Bounty Hunter," I brag, sit up to, cross my legs now, and grin right into his face. "And we are in my very own camp. You can't Apparate out, sweetheart."

He sighs. "Which side?"

"Dumbledore." His shoulders don't ease. He looks like a deer in the spotlight under all that power and control. "I brought a letter."

"How did you find me? It should have been impossible."

I shrug that away, as if the months of searching and the nightly promise to give it up _tomorrow_ have never happened. "I am here. You are here. This is it."

"Why didn't you bring me back right away?"

"Ley Line knot point. Allows only so much. And you can't portkey into Hogwarts."

We starte at each other. His stare is as intense as ever, but Felix the Bounty Hunter has eyes that can pierce darkness, make Death Eaters back off, and can very well take on Severus Snape. Tension grows. "May I ask if you consider, I don't know, _fighting back_ or something?" I ask lightly.

"I did notice you taking my wand when we landed. And, actually, I am trying right now."

Ah. There is a fine film of sweat over his lips.

I tilt my head. "Doesn't look very effective."

Now, a deep frown accompanies the fine lines on his forehead. He is too young to have lines. But so am I. "It. Should. Be."

"Hmm. Looks frustrating. Coffee?" With a wave of my wand, I let the thermos and my tin mug hover to me. He looks very, very angry.

"Did you block my magic?" Ah, there he is, the infamous Professor S. All rage and hatred, held back only by thin, thin strings.

"I wouldn't be able too. No one is, and that's for the better, if you ask me. Maybe you focus on the only attack I am bulletproof for?"

He jumps at me so suddenly that only a full year of forest reflexes saves me from an ungraceful end of my little game, which would be on the ground somewhere under him. Like that, he only has me on my feet and now very awake. Then he whispers something and his wand snaps out of my bag and into his hand, and suddenly I realize that I am in a flight-proof ring with only some trees and an old wooden shack and a very pissed off Severus. Maybe that hasn't been the best of plans. I open my mouth and raise my own wand, but the _Stupor_ has hit me before I can even think.

 _He really is the best in his field_ , informs my inner voice coldly while I fly through the air and into the nearest tree. Then, all goes black.

I wake up soon after. The colour of the sky hasn't changed too much, but there are two identical clouds in it. Not good. There are leaves in my mouth and stones in my back, which also isn't good, but there is also a very familiar piece of wood in my right hand, which is very good. At least I didn't let go.

I don't let go of consciousness, either, and rummage in my bag for a healing potion and a strengthening potion. As I gulp down the liquids, the two clouds unite into one, and the spinning of the world stops being something to consider when moving. I suppress another moan (I did underestimate the freedom to moan and curse when I was all alone - it actually reduces pain) and get up carefully. If I didn't screw up completely, Severus is still going to be in the ring.

He is stil there. Only, he is dangling upside down on his ankles, his shirt gently slid down to reveal quite a six pack. Oh, my. Still, bad: It means intruders. Because, stories aside, I don't believe he just _hangs out_ like that.

I climb to my feet. The ring had to be able to let people in, or _we_ wouldn't have made it in. There are only a few ways to open a warded place to special people only, and they all involve blood, which I hadn't at my disposal. Well, at least I put the ring around the tree and bushes here, or I would have been an easy prey for our new friends. I can see them now. Three guys, lined up in front of him. I don't recognize them, but they don't look like Death Eaters. Snatchers, probably.

Disillusionment on, I lean against the tree, and wait until I am fully recovered. He would be pretty embarrassed to see me seeing him like that, so I hold back. Also, he looks kind of calm, when you can say that from upside-down. And I have seen him perform that wandless wand-back trick just moments ago. This is gonna be fun.

But seconds go by and nothing happens. The three snatchers discuss what to do with him, and he just hangs there. He struggles a little, and there is something in his face I have never seen before. Then I see him move his lips, and on his face appears something else, something I _hav_ e seen before. Defeat.

And I understand. They took his voice.

They hung him up there and took his voice and his wand, and not even he can perform wandless and unsaid spells at the same time, upside down, after being surprised by three enemies. Something awakes in my stomach. Now they turn to him, as a front, and one says: "We have decided, Snivellus, that before we bring you back, a lesson has to be taught." And he grins, in that way Umbridge grinned when she announced to torture Ginny.

Snivellus. They're from Hogwarts. Younger years, probably around to watch the bully war of Marauders vs. Slytherins, and learned how to treat defeated enemies from both groups.

And they used _my_ trap, _my_ plan, all the work I put into that, they sail in the fairway of _my_ damn ship, and now that things are easy and he his already caught, they want to _humiliate_ him.

I have felt anger before. Hot, burning, bluebell-flame-erupting anger, the kind of anger that could burn down the world. And child that I was I mistook it for hatred.

Now I learn that hatred is cold. There is something awakening in me, something I didn't know I had until this very moment.

How dare they?

How dare they use me?

How dare they touch him?

_How dare they touch what's mine?_

So quietly that it is almost wordless, I whisper three spells. They don't notice it. Yet. There will be a lesson, and the lesson will be humiliation, hell yes. I alter my invisible appearance the slightest bit. I add one of Parvati's beauty glamors, and then another one to be sure, and turn my black eyes red. All this happens within a second. I've become fast with transfiguration.

And now I go full cliché. "Well, well, well, what have we here," I say and step out of the darkness, letting my eyes and unnatural beautiful face be seen first, and then let the Disillusionment fall down like layers, as I used to before. I don't look at Severus. My eyes are fixed at my prey, and I do not blink. I twirl my wand around my fingers.

"Look what wandered in our trap," I purr. "Three little pigs." They jump around and stare at me in shocked awe. Then, the bravest of them raises his wand at me in a complicated pattern. Severus, eyes wide in shock, finally starts to fight his bounds.

But all the wand produces is a duck. The faces they pull would be worth a photograph. I try my best to burn them into my very own retina for later display for Severus, who can only see the profiles. Thanks, Fred and George, for the Duck Special of 1995.

"Incendio!" Yells the man.

"Quack," says the second duck. It stretches its wings. I grin.

"Stupor!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Langlock!"

"Quack!"

With a light twirl of my wand, I put a full body-bind on them, and watch with great satisfaction as they fall face-forwards into the mud. Then I release Severus, and take care to let him land gracefully on his feet. A classical duel bow goes natural with that specific spell, and I bow to him sarcastically, like a magician that presents his charming assistant. He answers the gesture, and a slight grin starts to appear on his face.

"Now what, love?" I wink. "That was really too easy."

"How about the Acrumantula nest?" His eyes glitter.

"Naaah. They get lazy when you overfeed them. What life do you think sucks more, frogs or snails?"

"Snails, definitely, Lucky Charm." We stand next to each other, arms crossed, looking down at them. Whatever has woken up in me is not satisfied. It wants blood. It wants _revenge_.

In the end, they are shipped to their head-hunter agency via portkey, with pig snots and and the words "bested by a girl" calligraphed with perma-ink to their foreheads. I love the 80's sexisms right now. It was Severus' idea. I would absolutely have gone Bad Witch on them, broken wands and all.

Once they disappear with the soft fooomph of the portkey, Severus steps back from me. Just a little but enough that I notice. "Did you set me up as bait?"

"No. You knocked me out. For real, and then I just went with the flow. Didn't want the whole savior vibe I clearly have on you to swap over to our friends."

He tilts his head. "Do you think me a damsel in distress of some sort?"

No, I don't, but apparently the choir of voices and opinions in my head has a new front singer now, and it is a Demon. Good thing that Reason is still the loudest voice in there and can keep up. To push the demon back to the last row, I cling onto his joke as if it was a lifeline. Instead of answering, I magically plug some daisies from the clearing and let them unite to a flower crown (carefully in his line of view - he still looks quite shaken somehow, and I want to joke, not bully.)

"Don't you dare!" It is a hiss, but with a slight curl of lips. Phew. Playfully, I wave the crown towards him. "It would look so nice on your pretty little head," I tease.

He raises his wand and hovers the tin mug into my direction. It turns into a full water bucket while floating. Pictures of pillows and snowballs and girls jump to my mind. I transfigure the crown to a pillow and hit him right in the face. A second later I get splashed with the icy well water.

"Iiiiiik! Oh wait..." Aggressively I wave another daisy in his direction, and he quirks an eyebrow, and with full trust in Felix' muscles and the head-saving potions and the safe-step wards around my ankles I suddenly jump, and fly fully into him, and we fall downhill in a mess of tackling limbs and non-serious fighting over a flower. The protection ring breaks, as it is supposed to, once we pass it together.

At the end of the hill, in a grass field, he finally catches my wrists and pins me to the ground, without hurting me, but no apparent intention to let me go either. Now it is my turn to quirk an eyebrow.

"Who's got a pretty head now?" Severus hisses under heavy breaths. I didn't make it easy.

"Aww, you think I'm pretty?" I flirt.

"Hsssssh," hisses the acrumantula at the edge of the clearing.

"Don't worry, I've got that. Sectumsempra!" Still kneeing over me he fires the spell with a nonchalant arrogance that could very well be James Potter or Sirius Black in their meaner years. It hits the mark perfectly, and the young spider has a deep, clear cut in one sensor. The body wails and tremors in pain and fear, and it tries to touch the fresh wound with one of its legs.

For a moment, there is white noise in my head (maybe I should have rested after all), but then I feel the anger demon return. Anger about his arrogance, anger about his casual violence, anger about the fact that I now feel sympathy for a fucking giant spider. Anger that I have to try and heal it now, or I can never face Poppy ever again.

"Fuck you, Snape." I push him off me, and he is way too surprised to do anything against it. Immediately I am on my feet, and with gentle steps in plain view I go to the spider. I feel the daisy crumple in my hand. Suppressing my shudders, and aversion, and slight disgust that comes creeping up my neck ( _they were here first, we are the intruders_ ) I find the necessary state of calm and start to weave the healing dome around me and the creature. With the instinct of everything non-human, it understands that this means help.

Once I start to guide pain and fear through me and out into the dome, all disgust is gone. It is just a creature in pain, and pain is the enemy. But I cannot heal the cut with any spell, and new waves of pain come with every beat of the creature's heart, until I can't hold it any more. This is not how it is supposed to work, but I am not as good as Poppy who can turn pain into nothingness within the dome, so I guide it through to one of the boulders that lay everywhere. It is a huge boulder, has been minding its own business for centuries, and now it melts within seconds. The sad blob of lava finally brings Severus back to his senses. With an unreadable expression in his face, carefully avoiding eye contact with me, he comes closer and starts a spell I have never heard before, one that sounds like song.

Magic happens. The cut heals. I am sick, and my head hurts, but the pressure on my chest that came with the brutal spell starts to lift. There is still balance in him. The spell must be his. _Sectumsempra. Always severed_. Funny.

The spider touches the fixed sensor with its first pair of legs, carefully. Suddenly, it looks kind of cute.

_Merlin, you really were in that forest for far too long._

"Hssssss," it hisses and looks - what now? Expectantly?

"Um... excuse me?" I can almost feel Severus chuckle next to me. Well, I don't blame him, even if I still hate him right now. A bounty hunter has a polite conversation with a giant spider.

"Hisssss... laiiiiiir... is where the heart treeeees are.... the empty-er."

It is always weird to hear a spider speak. But this sends Goosebumps down my arms for very different reasons.

"It is showing a mental picture. She, I mean. She shows us where he is." Severus whispers through clenched teeth.

"Thank you," I say very loud and clear "you help us. Um, about your... sensor..."

I didn't know spiders could _shrug_. It looks strange. But not in a bad way. "You come to our lair. We fiiiiight. I come to your lair. We fight. No dead. No pain. All is well." It turns away.

"Um, wait! What's your name? Why did you come? Can we be, I don't know, friends?"

"I am Shaaaaaaza. I come... to seeeee. See something new. Mother knows all, I know few, I come to see. What is... friends?"

"Now I am curious," Snape murmurs. Yes, well, me too. I stare from afar at the words that tumble out of my mouth. That's a very Felix thing to do. Hermione never speaks before thinking. Maybe everything since I crushed into the tree is just a big bad brain concussion vision.

"Friends means, we meet, but there is no fight. We talk about things. Important things or small things. We fight together."

"You mean... a net. Mother saysssss no net with the two-leggerssss... but.... no fight!" And then it hurries off and disappears scarily quickly into the forest (the bad thing never is seeing a spider in your room. It is _losing_ a spider in your room.)

Next to me, Severus makes a strange noise. I force myself to stop staring at the treeline and look at him instead. It is suppressed laughter. I raise an eyebrow (Felix can do _that_ , too. I _insisted_ ).

"They..." he chuckles, fighting for his usual composure "they communicate in pictures... She just told her best friend 'I did it Shizzzz I talked to the ugly creatures, your turn' ... the spiders play _truth or dare_..."

After weeks in which nothing happened, and a few hours in which so much happened at once, I feel the laughter rise in me, too. Maybe it is just displacement activity, but on the other hand Felix has absolutely no need to suppress laughter. It bursts out of me like a volcanic eruption, and takes the stress away, and I laugh until the tears come. In the end he laughs with me, and when we're gasping for air I lean against him, and he puts his arm around me; natural gestures that belong to the shared laughter. But we become aware of it at the same moment and jolt apart as of we have touched electric current. There are borders, frontiers, sky-high walls neither of us wants to (or is able to) cross around other people, and we have been fighting together and against each other too often in the short time we met to even be slightly comfortable.

We stand around awkwardly. Suddenly my dragonhide boots have become quite interesting.

"So?" Snape snaps.

"So, what?"

"When are you going to scold me for attacking something that came to help me?" He crosses his arms defensively and looks so much like an even hotter version of _Professor Snape_ that I need a moment to even understand the question. Being far away from dungeons and cauldrons really did wonders for his hair and skin, and his vibrating, tense energy takes up all the room it gets, as usual. Only that there is so much more room out here.

I do my best to look unimpressed. "Never, I guess. I ain't a teacher, and you found out on your own." It should have been _ain't no teacher_ for the perfect sloppy accent, but I just can't bring myself to butcher the language like that.

"So you just..."

"What's your problem? Do you _want_ me to pick on you? Is that your thing?" I add a mischievous grin and get an eye roll in response.

"I have to admit that it is strange, not being patronized by people that hold my leech. Even if it's a short leech."

"So you found out about the tracking spell?"

"Do I look like a fool to you?"

I take that as an invitation for a long, interested gaze. Oh the miraculous wonders of no consequences (and no visible blushes). "No, not really." But suddenly the anger returns, when I see his smug grin. Yes, all turned out well, yes, we fixed what was broken and healed what was hurt, but still. It isn't as if it had never happened. I have always been sure that he just isn't t Death Eater type. Now I can't be sure any more. "Just don't do it again."

"Next time I will check first if it maybe is a plot device and not just some oversized pest," he mumbles.

"Plot device?" Echoing isn't the smartest thing to do, but my complicated emotions are flooded with question marks right now.

"Echoing isn't the smartest thing to do, you know?"

"Just fu-"

"No. Once a day is enough. But listen for a moment." He has that special look on his face, as if all the jigsaw puzzle pieces in his head suddenly snapped into place.

"All ears," I snap, unused to be interrupted by now. Usually people don't talk over Felix. I didn't really miss that feeling.

"Since you seem no stranger to romantic ideas, such as the Quest for the Right Thing in the Name of Dumbledore The Great" the sneer is almost dropping to the ground visibly, and you can hear all the capital letters "imagine everything to be a kind of story. Imagine everything goes back to just seven plots."

"Of course it has to be seven, eh? But I see what you're pointing at. Once you know in what kind of story you are you can influence the outcomes." I admit, grudgingly, that I like the thought, and add ' basic plots of all stories' to my never ending list of stuff to research.

"And this might be the point... where it all turns. Give me three days to find... _him_. Come along if you like or get me afterwards. I will come with you willingly, after these three days." A strange fire, an unknown devotion, is burning in his eyes, and he looks far over me, beyond me, to the green forest and the red sunset upon it. A whole day has passed, looking for him and fighting him and fighting with him, and still he doesn't see me.

_He takes up too much space in your day._

He was the Quest.

_So that's your story? Him in the center and you hovering around him in circles as if he's the sun?_

Inside, I sigh. I am going to write that damn story the way I like it. Now shut up, reason. "Peripeteia." I say out loud.

"Peri-?"

"Greek."

"And?"

"And I ain't no dictionary." So now here it is, the butchering of the language, I hope you are happy, Severus Snape.

Has he ever been truly happy?

Pictures come flowing, Lily Evans and the fish, and how he stood in the hall with hunched shoulders, and I understand why he wants to - has to - find what is left of Voldemort. Suddenly I am sick of it all, far beyond my slightly damaged head. The Dark Lord's inevitable return every year like an unloved exam, my constant battle about the damn right thing to do, the frustration of everything I do or don't do or don't get to do, and how I can never break through to him, not as me, not as Whisper, not as Felix - not with Lily Evans' memory around like a lingering sweet scent of springtime flowers. I feel tired, and endlessly exhausted.

"Deal. But read the damn letter." I shrug without further explanations, and he leaves me standing there and returns to the hut. I sigh deeply and lean against a pine tree. If I could, I would shatter the red of the sky and the green of the forest with my very own hands in that moment, and I am scared of this reaction. I am scared of myself, and that I am having problems with my best friend's dead mother. The persona I made starts to bleed into myself, until I am not sure who I am any more. The Invisible Wise, or the excited Know-it-all, or the untamed Hunter. Maybe I should end this whole pointless chapter (damnit, the story thing is sticking already) right now and drag his arrogant ass back to Dumbledore. Or just get out of everything for good.

I am tired, my magic feels raw, my head spins, and my inside is empty. It was war, and he is no stranger to violence, and I knew that, but I hated seeing that - I hated all of that. I loathe it, the whole situation, and all it implies. In the end I throw a coin about what to do, and as I return to the shack I wonder if alternate-me who just disappears into the forest forever is happier.

He sits in the alcove, reading the letter Dumbledore gave me for him. I throw my stuff into the corner that is farest from him and start my own protective hexes.

"Three days. After that..." he says to the silence.

"Yes."

"Aren't you afraid I Apparate out as soon as you sleep, and get rid of your trace? I am good, you know."

"Right now I couldn't care less. And I don't care if you are good. Better shut up. I don't like you." Right now this isn't even a lie.

"I have no intentions of being liked, headhunter. All I need is to be respected."

"Screw you." I slip into my magical protection ring, and lay down on my bed, and stare out of the window. There is the forest, and the sky, and the softly glowing Anti-Apparition-Ring I put around the shack, and the alert once he tries to leave. I am not that stupid.

 


	21. and contradict ourselves for fun;

 

 

It is about 3 am when I hear him screaming. I am awake and at my feet in mere seconds, pointing my wand at the darkness. "Lumos," I hiss and I am ice-cold ready to fight, almost knowing that the three pigs have returned. They haven't.

The only battle that takes place is in Severus' head. He yells "No, no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" The alcove where he sleeps in is heavily warded, and I have to throw about six apples against the shield before he shots up into a sitting position. He stares at me without understanding, wand pointed into the night. Since I don't want to catch a stray hex, and to take the embarrassment out of it, I leave the shack without even spending time to get my boots. I just know that he'll follow once he's composed again.

Once outside, I suddenly feel very vulnerable. The forest is dark and deep, and several things I know about lure in there. And others I don't know about. It is not so difficult to understand why the human race started to built houses. I shake my head, remember Kinsley's last advice ("you can only pull that off if you're convinced deep inside that the most dangerous thing in the night is you"), pull myself both together and up to the shack's heavy wooden roof, enjoying the tension and strength I feel in my muscles. The life in the wild does me good, I guess.

Once settled I feel better, and make myself comfortable. Hermione cuddles up. Felix stretches out. And this I do; crossing long, brown legs at the ankles I lean back and wait, stargazing, feeling the moss and grass on the rooftop under my bare feet.

It takes about fifteen minutes. I feel his magic radiate already when he leaves the hut, and I understand that he is close to the edge where I was, will be, years in the future, barefoot in Narnia. Triggered. Fuck. Doesn't he know the routine yet? I do not move. Like a wild animal, he has to come to me.

 _Crack_. He Apparates next to me. "Lazy," I say.

"Resourceful," he answers. "Why are you grinning?" Heavily he falls down next to me, and shifts around on the roof to find a comfortable position.

"Just memories. You all right?"

"Just memories," he echoes.

"We keep having the same conversation," I say without thinking, and only then remember his wistfully look when I first (later) said that.

_Open your eyes. It is all there. The evidence. It is all fucking there._

_It is you._

_The extraordinary field witch. It is you._

_H, it is you._

Sweet Merlin. Protected by darkness I chew on my lip, trying to calm myself down. Compose. Nothing is sure yet. Nothing. It could all mean nothing. Hold it together. One wizard at the edge is enough right now.

"And you, up here? Stargazing?" Interrupted in my thoughts, I need a moment to come back, and another one to find a normal answer. Then I remember that I am out of consequences for once, and that if it is really me, if she is me, I can be as real as I want to, with no reason to hide. I am not Hermione, he'll never know, if it's not me he probably won't even remember Felix-me, and if he tries to leave I can side-along him back to Dumbledore this instant. So why not the truth?

"I was just... thinking. You know, quite probably, the most ordinary and boring outcome of every approaching situation is to be expected. But the mere possibilities, well, they make my stomach flutter and my mind spin. Everything could change at any given moment, could turn into any possible future. And sometimes, at 3 am like this, when the world is quiet, I am almost sure I can see them all unfold at once. It is beautiful, and scary." I am out of breath after that, and I feel way more exposed than ever before, even more than when I wore his robes, and only his robes, on my burning skin. Now that was some truth.

But he only smiles at that: "So there _is_ life on this planet after all."

"Thinker yourself, hm?"

"Right now I think about all the reasons you could have to not just Apparate me away and be done with it. So, why don't you?"

"Boring. Also, we have a deal." I say, and shift lazily, and cross my arms under my head, knowing very well what this position does to my chest and magically sharpened neckline. Looks like I did learn a few things from Pav and Lav in the end. Still, a good reason to ask that question myself. I didn't have to agree to the deal. I could easily break it, too. Why don't I?

"So, the thrill of the hunt? Or the art of persuasion?" He inquires.

"The way you say it, it sounds like something bad."

"Isn't it?"

"Isn't that all human interaction is about?"

"You're really one of Dumbledore's," he sighs. "Never a straight answer, and always waving back to madness. By the way, you were quite remarkable today. Scary."

"Thanks, I guess?"

"I mean extraordinary."

Oops. Did not see that coming. Okay, I did. Is it that what it takes? Did we have to fall out of time to find - us? The Mothra creature in my stomach awakes but at the same time, I am strangely calm. It is just - right. Right now, right here everything is right. I think that, in one version of reality, at least one version of me goes in for _The Kiss_ right away. Good for her. This reality, me, knows that it would be cruel to kiss someone who struggles at the edge.

"You're not that bad yourself. I mean, holding it together like that with just basic Occlumency. Must be a natural." Why not take a risk now? I got nothing to lose.

"Basic? That's what you call basic, witch? I can assure you I learned from the best. My shield -"

"Eh. Shield. That's what I mean. The real thing is like a river, a soft flow, and not an emotional dam. You know, the thing you couldn't cross or enter when we were in the ring at first? That's the real thing. And I know that for sure, because I _did_ learn from the best." In the future. From you. All a little timey-wimey, I guess, but I am used to it now.

"Consider teaching me?"

"We start at dawn." Tai Chi during sunrise, here we come.

"That was easy."

"Always that tone of surprise." Now I realize that he has been quoting me to me back in the future. Does he know? Or does he... subconsciously... does he want to be what I am now? Or is he just mirroring Felix because she was so important? My, this might even get a little too big for me to handle. But can I get out? Would I want out if I could?

Calm, stay calm. Stay calm! "Stay calm," I whisper to myself. Only then I remember that I am not on my own any more, that the ever-sharp attention of Severus Snape the Spy is focused on me, and how close he is sitting. The pulsing of his magic increases. We are _this_ close to a catastrophe, I realize. It doesn't worry me. Not really. I know that edge. I know it well. It doesn't scare me any more.

"Want to talk it out, Snape?"

"I would prefer not to."

"I understand," I say quietly.

"Doubt it."

_You're losing him._

Nah. Not happening. I get up from my relaxed position. Now we sit side by side. The tiny hair on my arms goes up. I sigh. Desperate times, desperate measures, and I am out of consequences. Out of consequences. The words that have never left my lips, not once in almost twenty years, come out. "When I was in preschool, a bunch of kids lured me onto the monkey bars just to shove me back down, as a prank. To prove that... Well. That I couldn't fly. I was too young to understand, too innocent maybe to even consider, so no accidental magic came to rescue me. I broke some rips and was dead afraid of falling ever since, nightmare paralysis, overly controlling, overthinking, all in. Took me thirteen years until I did as much as dangling my legs in the air. I know trauma. I know what to do.”

"You jumped off that boulder into the spiders." He doesn't really believe me, I can hear it.

I shake my head at that. "This kind of thing... you have to leave it behind or it will eat you up, you know? One day I was just sick of feeling like... of turning to stone whenever something reminded me of it. I learned how to fall, and to land. I can teach you. Landing, I mean. Figuratively."

"Is that why you took care to put me back on my feet?"

His voice is a little calmer now. He pictures a small girl, Felix as a small girl, falling, and he puts himself together because there is a small girl falling, and that is not the time to fall apart. He is just as much one of Dumbledore's as I am, maybe even more, because he isn't desperate for Dumbledore's approval. He just does what he has to do, despite his emotions. I mean, what must it mean for him to see Harry, his enemies' face with his loved one's eyes in it, and to protect him all the time, every single day?

I still wonder how Lily had fallen for James, though. Even of he did grow up in the short time he was permitted in this world, how quickly can you forget years of antagonism? How long did they fight side by side, before she saw something other than a bully in him? I don't know if I would be able to fall for, say, Draco Malfoy, even after I understand about his family now.

_You fell for the Dungeon Bat. And he is pretty much a bully, too. Don't be a hypocrite, just because watching Lily as a friend reminded you of every female friend you ever tried to have._

But is he a bully? Or is the Bat a persona like Felix? Some part of him he forces out to the extreme?

_And should we really discuss this NOW?_

I focus on him again. He has taken my delay to try and compose himself even more. But he... he is uncomfortable. Highly. Damn, I have never seen an adult _that_ uncomfortable in any situation, and I have seen Dumbledore being yelled at. And had The Talk with my parents. The Sex Talk and the You-are-black-take-care Talk. Don't know which was worse.

"Didn't want you to hurt your pretty head. Being a headhunter and all." Carefully I shove him with my elbow while taking up that lose thread.

"Why do you even do that? You're good enough for... well, anything."

"Money."

"Lies," he says softly, holding onto the banter as if it were a lifeline. It probably is.

I smile. He has always been good at that. "All right, then, Sherlock. It's childhood wish fulfilment. For years all I wanted to do was to disappear into the forest. Now I do just that. And get paid. And I kinda like it. Being alone like that, not having to take care of anyone but me. And I am easy to mend. You know?"

"No idea what you mean."

"Lies." A tiny chuckle, and a sigh, and the roaring magic in him calms down a little. Almost simultaneously we let ourselves fall back to the soft mosses and grass that grows on the roof, and stay like this for a long time, staring at the stars.

"... don't hurt anything again just because you can," I blurt out.

"Now you must talk. These three men, if it weren't for me, they would have lost several limbs. And it would not have been a clean cut." He sounds way to smug about that. Damn it.

They touched what's mine, wails the monster in my chest. I hush it quickly. "Don't act as if you aren't a dark one yourself. Headhunter," he adds, still too damn smug.

"That's not the same. They were a danger, the spider was just there. And gross. But that's not a reason to hurt something."

"I used to be told that I deserve hexes just because I exist," Severus snorts. And the monster awakes again, wants to travel back to the seventies and drag Black's and Potter's sorry asses for ever single thing they ever did.

"What even was that spell?" I ask instead.

“Designed it myself, for enemies." Fuck. Knew it. I feel him shrug in the darkness next to me. Then, carefully: "Care to learn? In exchange for your amazing tricks for... fear of heights."

"More for the countercurse, actually, but I guess they are two sides of the same coin."

"Smart girl."

"Yeah, I know."

"And modest."

"Hey, what happens when you don't have the last word? Does hell freeze over or something?"

"How would I know?"

I want to wipe that stupid nonchalance from his face. Preferably with my lips.

"Thought you knew _everything_ , Snape?"

"Thought that was your part, Felix?" The nerd box? Again? Bugger!

"Anyway. Since you don't want me to severe some overdramatic arachnoids, you better take good care of me" he - teases? Hell.

"And you better take care if me, or you lose your reputation of being The Dark One in our little team," I tease back. Two can play this game.

"Deal." We shake hands. The mere touch of our fingers is all what it needs to break the sad remains of his Occlumentic barrier. Scenes of his childhood flash over me like a tsunami. A little boy, crying, hiding while adults yell. A girl in a sundress, laughing. Scenes from Hogwarts, but nothing with Whisper in it. Why he called Lily a mudblood. The damn werewolf from his point of view. The same day. It was the same _day_.

James around Lily, making her laugh in class. And then darkness, and more darkness, and everyday little pains, little stings others hit him with, becoming unbearable in the end, like Chinese water torture. A Daily Prophet with a wedding announcement bursting into flames. All in a few seconds, before I can even react.

 _HALT_ , demands my inner voice.

And suddenly we are in what I imagined my mind to be when I started with the real Occlumency: A white hall with pillars, from where you could see the calm river glittering in the sunlight. Camelot. Only that now everything is overflown with soap bubbles. Dark soap bubbles, iridescent in blue and black and grey.

Mind-me raises both hands and the bubbles freeze where they are, just as Severus showed me after my breakdown in Narnia. I point at one of them to find out if they really are what I suspect them to be. Immediately, the memory is there.

 _Dumbledore says: "I am not patronizing you, Severus. But you must learn that even though you are a genius, you won't get away with everything. A person never exists out of their context. Try to see me as a member of your community teaching you how to be an adult member of that community."_ I have never seen someone Disapperate without turning, or moving, and certainly not without breaking eye contact. Not until now. You can almost hear _I Don't Give A Damn For My Reputation_ play in the distance as Severus cracks away from the meeting place. So that was his farewell to Dumbledore, apparently.

I wave the bubble away. Actually, I don't have time for this. I need to clear the place, and take a deep breath, both real and in Camelot. I focus again on the landscape in my head and see a tiny figure, dressed in black, that quickly comes closer to the white hall. Of course it is him. He is a natural, after all, and his memories in my damn head have to mean that his active consciousness is in here, too.

_Felix? Is that you?_

Only now I wonder how he sees me. Am I Hermione in here?

_Yes. Of course it is me._

_You look as if you're made of glass._

Isneak a look at my hands. He is right. Glass. Light is shining through. I am almost invisible. Almost.

 _I don't need a form here, since I already know who I am_ , I improvise wildly, thinking of muggle hocus pocus theories about astral bodies. Time to act. I know that I can only hold this overflow for so long.

_I need your help, Severus. Now it is time for the fall training._

_Felix, what are you doing?_

_Saving you, Severus. Your barrier broke. When you are calmer I will teach you to built your own place like this. But for now, mine must do, because somehow we are in my mind._

_I didn't mean this to happen, Felix. I didn't know it could happen!_

_Don't worry. It is easier this way. Here, I reign. I've got this._

That is the truth. There are no lies in Camelot.

_I need you to help me, Severus. See the river? Imagine each of the bubbles to follow it's flow. Move your hands like that to push them._

It takes a while, but he follows my lead with the same burning determination I have seen before, and the painful strong energy leaves my body with every soap bubble that goes down the river. Only when they are gone I understand how heavy they really were.

_Good. Now Apparate out, back to the roof._

_Have you done this before?_

_No._

_Then how do you -_

_Stop falling, Severus. Jump._

And he jumps. Once we're out of my head again and his hard, harsh breath turns back to normal, I immediately bring some space between us. Dead exhausted, we barely make it back inside the hut. He tumbles to the alcove, and I steady myself on the back of the only chair in the room.

After some deep breaths, he croaks: "Can you..."

I want to snap at him. Or wrap my arms around him. He just makes some helpless gestures. "Would you..."

It is so frustrating. And out of character. I have only ever known him composed, but considering what he just did he is probably a grade-A-composture. " _Yes_ , probably. What do you _need_ ?" I am forever glad that I didn't say _want_ , because to him, that is something completely different.

"Could you stay over here." He says tonelessly, awaiting a no and worse.

"Can you stand another person close by? Because I couldn't when I was _there_ first."

"Wasn't a first," he mumbles. "But it's the first time someone else was there. Or there... after."

He doesn't say “there for me”. I don't know if that is even part of his vocabulary. I can only nod now. I am too exhausted to deal with that amount of lostness. Without even enhancing the queen sized nook, we lay down next to each other, and soon after I hear his breath turn slow. He is asleep.

 


	22. the waitress holds our coats and we put on

 

After a year mostly spent in the wilderness, with only a few people around now and then, the first light of day in my face is something I can feel like a touch from a loved one. I am kicked out of my very light sleep, a state where dreaming and consciousness are _this_ close to each other, immediately.

Severus is laying next to me, asleep but not relaxed. It seems as if every muscle of his body is prepared to jump at any moment. It looks painful, and destroys the innocence of sleeping completely. But is there any innocence left at all? We are in between wars, and nobody can really have a pure heart at this point. Except Hagrid, maybe, who tries so hard to prove that nothing is ever only a monster.

I suppress a sigh and get up, carefully avoiding anything that could wake him up. I brush my teeth outside, quicken the washing process in emptying the water bucket over my head (cold!) and dry myself with a charm. I comb the hair as best as I can, and braid it with shaky fingers, before I renew the magic that steadies my appearance. Back in the shack, I feel my skin almost glowing from the blood circulation, and wide awake and open, I can catch strands of his painful dreams. Red werewolf eyes in front of him turning to red eyes of a snake-like wizard, and invisible arms that gently hold him fade away, until he is alone with the monster, and his back is bare.

How could he ever forgive me? Pain clenches my chest, but now is not the time. Quickly I start to move again, before my thoughts petrify me - Felix is not one to stand around hurting. I open the windows, heat up water, and start with the coffee.

He woke up with the first noise, but doesn't move. I know that his senses are highly alerted from the way his breath changes until it is almost unbearable. He is scared. Of course he must be. Vulnerability doesn't do good for a spy.

I duplicate my mug and let one of them sit on wooden table, fill half the coffee into the other one, and leave the room again. I sit on a tree trunk in plain sight outside and wait. It doesn't take too long for him to join me.

"Why the early bird, you already got the worm," he sneers, and I am glad to notice that he is composed again.

"Good morning to you, too. We have a busy day ahead."

"You are really up to that? You follow the advice of a giant spider to find you-know-who's remains, together with your prey?"

I shrug. "When you say it, it sounds like a bad idea."

"Why are you putting off going home?"

"Why did you run away in the first place?"

We stare at each other, no one willing to give up an inch. No one even considering a honest answer. Finally, I make a decision. "I will show you the Occlumency drill now, if you still want to learn, and after that we plan. We don't go in this unprepared. Are you any good with maps?"

Teaching him is easy. Some people learn through reading, others through listening, and others through repeating. And then there are some that have never really been _taught_ anything, that never felt someone was interested in _teaching_ them, let alone seeing them succeed, and they pick up whatever they can get with all their senses. And Merlin, his senses are sharp. He picks up the movements and mindset so quickly that I feel ridiculously ashamed for needing weeks in the future.

During the third march-through of the movements, he has his eyes closed, and I leave my place next to him and start to correct his posture here and there, always with a forewarning, and I never let my touch linger. I guard him through the mental part with quiet, almost whispered words, and we both feel a painful familiarity during that. Some of his memories leak out, but I don't think he notices. I do.

Once done, all I can manage is a court nod, to not have my voice betray me for the display of twirling magic in the New Years night on the astronomy tower, and the whole damn future. I turn away forcefully and stomp back to the hut, violently biting a breakfast apple. It still worked. He is settled, and I didn't spill.

Putting up my usual display of muggle and magical maps, pictures and string I give away a good deal of how I found him, but it doesn't matter any more. I know that my adventure in the forest is coming to an end anyway, and there is no loss in him knowing these things. We mark the point the spider showed him, and I check for Ley Lines and known magical dangers, and check the environment. Severus corrects an enchanted compass that led him here in the first place. I have to inquire about that later.

Once we have our route mapped, agreed on meeting points in case we lose each other (as if), and secured our stuff for a new day, we come back to exchange distrusting glances. "And you stay where I can see you," I order. I didn't get many chances to boss people around lately.

He raises his familiar eyebrow. "You're way too young to be that suspicious."

I just snort at that. There was a war and will be a war, I am a bounty hunter, I was an invisible guardian. I am not too young, haven't been since I lay on my back in cold sand, heavy breathing though broken ribs. "Said the man that sleeps with his eyes open."

"You don't understand."

"Sweetie, you have no idea of what I do and do not understand. Move now."

We wander for hours in silence. Sometimes I catch myself humming, and stop. He is quiet and determined and already has the long, powerful stride is he is known for in the future, but his clothes don't flutter around. They cling to his body in the heat and remind me of that body next to mine last night, and the heavy, black blur soap bubbles in my mind.

_Pathetic, H._

You don't say?

"I don't say what?"

"Um, sorry. Talking to myself. Sometimes a girl needs expert advice," I improvise.

"Are you sure you said it out loud? I mean, after last night... I would not completely exclude a kind of connection from the range of possibilities." He cringes a little and is clearly uncomfortable about having to bring up last night. Well, welcome to the club.

"Thinking of some kind of mental connection soul mate kitsch? Sorry, but I don't think our story has a pink cover with overly passionately ripped looking protagonists on it," I say lightly, to take out the stress.

He grins, somewhat relieved. "Too bad. So no 'Arousal in Albania' for the bookshelves?"

I giggle at that. "I thought about 'Forbidden Fancies in Forests', but, well..."

"Pleasure under Pine Trees?"

"Desire among Daisies?"

Now, he laughs out loud. "Don't let this idiot Lockheart hear this, he might steal it. Wanderings with Werewolf, Merlin."

"I hope he meets a real werewolf one day," I grumble, still a little embarrassed about me fancying that guy. Well, he did have a great writing style. Catchy, low key sarcastic, giving the reader the feeling of winking at you from time to time, as if you are the only two people of brains in a room full of dunderheads. Well, I guess I got a type there.

"Wouldn't wish _that_ on an enemy."

 _Stupid, H_. "How very adult of you," Felix smirks. Felix always has an answer. To everything.

"Wait, aren't you supposed to be the good one in this? Dumbledore's little apportion dog?"

I snort. "There is really more to people than just stories, Severus."

"Care to elaborate?"

And again no reason to hold back. "You know, the old thing. The Good, the Bad, the Ugly. In stories, there are only two possible outcomes for people that go through the shit we go through. We either turn completely villain, or we "get over it", as they say" I draw the marks in the air with my fingers "and become whole and happy as if everything has always been pies and butterflies. And I don't believe in either."

"I turned baddie," he says and enjoys every syllable. "Ask the stupid kids I tried to teach."

"Oh Merlin's balls, do you realize that you aren't the first mean teacher in history, or the meanest? I have seen a PE teacher loudly refusing to help a chubby kid jump over the vaulting buck, and he fell and got hurt. And all that teacher did was to stand there and raise an eyebrow, and everyone thought it was hilarious. And we were eight fucking years old, and there weren't even cauldrons that could blow up everyone in eyesight, so whatever you did, it can hardly be that bad."

"What did you do?"

"Sorry?"

"To the teacher. What did you do."

I turn tomato red under my dark skin, and transfigure my wand to a bush knife, and hack some innocent leaves on out way. I feel my cheeks burn. "Nothing. I thought back then teachers were always right. I went home crying." I admit it all. My fear, my cowardness, my rule-loving.

But again he's too smart for me. "And that is not the end of the story, Miss Corn-Karate."

I smile at him. He is right. Once the trace had worn off and my parents were safely gone, I made a day trip. "I may or may not have returned. He may or may not get a high squeaky hiccup whenever he says something degrading or yells these days. They may or may not call him Mister Eeeek. To his face. Without consequences. Because he can't shout at them." A few other plants die under my shame. I eye him from the side, as he elegantly avoids to become showered under the shreds of my destruction of fauna.

A slight curl of his lip that indicates amusement. "I wonder what you would have done to _me_."

"What _did_ you do?"

"Considering that you already saw some of my memories last night, and did not pick up the topic yet, I see no harm in telling - some of my students were first graders that day at the lake and tried to undermine my authority. I picked apart their work and then their insecurities until I made one of them cry." He stops, crosses his arms and stares at me, as if he is ready to try Legilimency again.

Good thing that my mind is bulletproof once more, and his isn't overflowing any more, because my argument with him in the classroom before I revealed Whisper would have been very difficult to explain. "Would like to see you try," is all I answer, but he doesn't. Instead, he points at something behind me.

"See these rocks, and the clearing? We are there." He takes some big steps, as if to make sure he is there first, and passes me.

I swallow. Half a day of walking. No traps. Nothing has happened. "I have a bad feeling about this. It went too smooth."

"We fought giant spiders, got attacked by snaterchs, fell down a cliff, met another giant spider, and you had to bring me back from a brain meltdown. You call that smooth?"

"M-hm. But cliff is pretty exaggerated, that was merely a hill..." And then we both feel the cold. A heavy, clingy, smoky cold, like an evil fog. It makes my heart pound loudly, and my limbs heavy, and makes me feel bulky and heavy, as if I take up too much space. I want to hide, but once again, a familiar feeling of forced motionlessness starts to creep up from my feet. But not only on me. Despite everything, despite all our experience and everything we have been through, _we both_ _freeze_.

A tiny figure emerges from the smoke, and I feel a bone-deep terror unite with the cold. It is a little girl, with dark red hair, in a yellow sun dress. Her almond-shaped eyes are green like the forest and hard like a gemstone. She comes closer, and I recognize her walk. She is curvy where I was scrawny, close to chubby, and when she moves, the pure magical energy that is almost bursting out from under her glowing skin makes her beautiful. She is so _alive_ it almost hurts. Like sunlight pressed into a human shape - it didn't stand out as much in the magic loaded environment of Hogwarts, but here in the forest I start to understand what she must have been in Cokeworth.

"I hate you, Sev," she says determinedly. "I hate that you killed our friendship and then you got me killed. But you know what? I am glad I died. I am glad that I died, because I wanted to reconcile with you, and now I understand that with you back in my life, you would have killed _who I am,_ also."

The tiny noise of suffering that comes from Severus, as if he had been stabbed, kick-starts my brain. And I am not a child any more. I am not falling, and I am not petrified, and my brain _delivers._

"This is a team-up. Dementor, or probably several considering the fog, and a Boggart. They will freeze us in terror and then take our souls."

Severus doesn't speak. I'm not even sure he heard me.

"Wand up, Severus. I will step between you and the Boggart now and Riddikulus its sorry ass, and I need you to cast me a Patronus. I can't do both."

_He will recognize McGonagall when you do this..._

But this time my inner voice is wrong. Professor McGonagall, telling me that I failed everything, isn't my biggest fear any more.

"Oh, and be prepared for a boggart-werewolf."

I hear another wince, but I boldly stepped forward already. Heya, Gryffindor. The little girl is gone in a heartbeat, and instead there is a huge, angry, red-eyed werewolf, only centimetres from my face, and somewhere in the back is a hunched black figure...

And I don't have my hoverboard, because that would give me away, I am glued to the ground, cold, so cold, and can't _move_...

"Riddikulus," I snap angrily. The wolf turns into a grey, fluffy puppy with a big red bow around its neck. It looks awesomely cute as it barks at me, takes a step into my direction, and gets trapped into the bow with his tiny paws. I laugh out loud, and in that moment I understand the mistake. Dementors feed on happiness. And here they are.

Twelve of them. We are surrounded.

"Snape, Patronus," I hiss. I step back, so I am next to him again. The puppy flickers. The girl reappears, and then the wolf, and the girl...

Severus is still... _petrified._ Oh, wow. I raise my wand. Damn, I've never been good with that. Well, H isn't, Felix maybe is.

They come closer. Severus' eyes are fixed onto the Boggart. Happy memory... strong happy memory... pure happy memory... not compromised by pain or sadness... Hogwarts letter coming in. Magic is real. I am not a freak. My parents are so proud... And now they don't even remember me.. Outch... Still! It has to work! "Expecto Patronum!"

A shy, silver mist. The Dementors come closer. Severus starts to tremble next to me.

More, I need more, I have to be better. Winning the house cup. Fifty points for Hermione. Dumbledore smiling. Head of the year. Running through the great hall after I can move again. Falling into Harry's arms. The butterflies in my stomach as I shake Ron's hand. Ron, who is now a child to me. Ouch. Still. Running. Moving. Free. "Expecto Patronum!"

Not good enough. I need more. Astronomy tower. First perfect flight on the board. Running through the forest, strong and sure what I do. The smell of rain. Coffee break in Narnia, lake light around us. The black cardigan, a transfigured robe, so soft on my skin. Saving Arthur Weasley. The thrill of finding another Death Eater. The catcher from above. The invisible shadow. No one ever looks up.

Inventing spells. The solving of a puzzle. Rolling down a hill. Occlumency in the morning. The calm of Camelot, free of bubbles. Music breaks through the silence. Dust dancing in beams of light. Silence under pine trees. Fresh parchment. Mowed grass. The silence that dims all the pain. Grey water melting into grey skies. A boat gently drifts. I am at peace.

"Expecto Patronum!"

And there it is. The silvery otter. It emerges like the last hope that he is. But then it's contours fade, and there is - a fox? For a moment I see both animals, they turn around to me, and dissolve into a cloud of confusion.

The Dementors are still there. They seem _cocky_ . And everything I tried failed. Maybe McGonagall saying so is still my biggest fear, after all. And it makes me so angry. The know-it-all doesn't know what to do. And Severus still stares at Boggart-Lily and dies inside, and all I can do is produce silly clouds. And suddenly I hear Felix yell: "Oh, screw it. _Incendio_!"

And the capes of all the Dementors around us burst into flames. And they screech, and start to hover around confused, waving their arms and bumping into each other. And then there is another noise: A deep, throaty, untrained laugh, a laugh I have heard a few times before, and they were the best of times (even if sometimes, they also were the worst.)

And there it is, the warm and earthy feeling of happiness. We yell it together, and a beautiful silver doe and a quick fox burst out, and run through the clearing. The fog eases, and I grab Severus, and once again we fall into existence in front of the hut.

Still laughing, he turns around and looks up to the sky. "You are crazy, woman. Set Dementors on fire. How did you know that would work?"

"Didn't," I gasp, "just wanted to burn something." We stay there for a very, very long time, breathing, and digging our hands into the grass, until the sky turns darker and the wind gets cold. Finally, I get up and offer a hand to pull him on his feet. He takes it. "Got firewhiskey in there. Interested?"

"I thought you would never ask." We go in again, and sit in comfortable silence as the day dims down, and have absolutely no intention of talking about anything that has happened today, ever. I get the fire burning, and cuddle up in the old armchair, and sip on my whiskey, and let my thoughts wander.

And suddenly, my eyes flicker to him. I catch him looking at me, but against the social rules, he doesn't look away.

"You're supposed to look away," I scold gently.

"I don't give a shit about what I'm supposed to do."

I feel my face heating up. He moves, sips his whiskey, puts his glass away and folds his hands into a roof. And suddenly I wish we just could stay here, in this hut, forever and ever, and live out our days in peace. But this is not how this works. This is not how any of this works. I forcefully rip my eyes off him and make myself remember what I'm doing, and why. And once I did that, the whiskey finally does his job, and I am between waking and dreaming, and nothing but the flames in front of me fill my head.

_"Just as myself, he does not believe that Tom is gone forever. But unlike me, who is needed here to reestablish the order of society, he has decided to go on a revenge mission and find him. Or mercy in death. Or both, preferably."_

_"That's cold, sir." I'm not scared, I only feel rightfully angry. I know that Severus will live, but I am quite sure that I will be the one who has to go after him now to ensure that. Great. I sigh. "And when I convinced him to come back here so you can have an eye on him as you promised the Wizengamot, you'll help me get back?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Say it."_

“ _I promise to sent you back once you brought me Severus, or convincing proof of his death."_

_We shake hands. "Bastad."_

_Dumbledore giggles. "Well, my dear, that's one way to put it."_

I don't really know why I think about that now, while I am peacefully hanging in the small cabin, almost asleep, as relaxed as I haven't been forever. Wait. "Oh no you haven't!" I'm on my feet in seconds. Anger burns away the heavy tiredness that was so enjoyable a moment ago. Immediately, I raise my Occlumency walls, screw Camelot. I need protection _now._ "You have been poking around in my head the first second I stopped being on guard!"

"Yes," he shrugs.

"How dare you? We have been fighting together, we were drinking together, I was starting to _like_ you! I was being honest with you! I saved your damn ass!"

How can that man ruin everything in every damn timeline? "The door was open after you saving us. I wanted to know."

"Oh, and my privacy? How about asking? I'm a ... You can't just open my mind and read it! I- I'm a person. Not a book!"

"And that should mean something to me?" I fire an unsaid Legilimens in his direction as a revenge, hoping to get him off-guard. It bounces off from a wall as thick as the Bastille in France like a gummy ball. "Don't try that again, girl," he hisses.

"And why not? What are you hiding there I haven't seen yet? Something as dreadful as an emotion? Coward." I can punch low, too.

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

"Then don't act like it. Go back. Face Dumbledore. Face your responsibility." His laugh is cold. It drives me to the edge that he doesn't even take me serious enough to get off the armchair and face me on his feet. Didn't he pay attention during the last days? Doesn't he get that I am a serious _threat?_

"What responsibility? That so-called job I will be stuck at, repeating the same boring basic bullshit to a bunch of dunderheads year after year? Or watch from afar how her ridiculous brother-in-law beats the crap out of her child for eleven years, until Hogwarts has the honour to house another broken misfit like me?" He delivers this coldly, without stumbling over a single word, and takes a sip of whiskey. When, the hell, did he get another stupid drink?

Then the words hit me in the face.

"What?" It takes the wind out of my sails. "Harry Potter won't be abused by his family... maybe not adored, but...?"

"Your childhood was all rainbows and butterflies, right, _Felix?"_

"You know nothing about my childhood."

"And you know nothing about... it doesn't matter. Dumbledore has made a decision, but I say, suck it. There is something else for me to do."

"You won't find him out here. Forget it. You are one of the most skilled wizards I have ever seen, and you've got nothing, after months, apart from that trap."

The glimmer his eyes is frantic, almost feverish. "You don't understand. I have to find him. I have to end him. That's all I have left." Is fingers claw into the chair's arm until his knuckles turn white.

"Come back with me. We had a deal."

"The deal is off."

"Don't make me drag you."

"As if you could. Anyway, I have made my decision."

"Decisions based on emotion aren't decisions, at all." And after all I have said to him in the last days, this is what makes him angry at me. Something as dreadful as an emotion, indeed.

"How dare you-" And here we are now, wands raised, circling each other. In nature, a lightning encounters when energy clashes, and our energy is as violent as can be in this moment, pulsing, vibrating. He bas been hunting Voldemort for months, as I have been hunting him for months, we are both damn near a war (even though from different ends) and we are both pretty much over the edge. We throw our stupors at the same time, we duck from them, and then magic breaks free like a thunderstorm. We ignore all rules, we use unsaid magic and deflict without real spells, colors crash and furniture breaks, we jump around in the sheds of the hut; it's more point-and-throw than the classic, elegant duel, not delicate, not elegant, just forces exploding, magic breaking free.

Explosions and dust and sparks and flashes, barrage, shields, iridescent, magic prickles over my naked arms. And then, in the middle of our explosive little war, there it is, the tiny smile in the corner of his mouth, the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. And I feel the same amusement rise in me. For once, I don't have to hold back. In class, in the DA, ever since my year as a ghost I hold back, or it is life and death and no time to enjoy. But I enjoy this, the adrenalin, the strength I feel in me as instinct takes over and combines what I have drilled in for the last years to complex designs and tsunamis of power.

We fire again now. Wands flick and lights flicker, and we swirl and turn and move. almost dancing, almost fighting, and I hear myself laughing. I know that if I lose, he'll just disappear in the woods, and my chances are gone. And then comes the moment when we have each other at checkmate, standing right in front of each other, wands on each others throats. We are so close that we can feel each others heavy breaths, the adrenalin still rushing in our veins, hearts beating like drums. My trails of thoughts run crazy, and end at Kafka (of all things) ... _we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell._

Entrance of hell. Yes. "I am a lie," I burst out. "Felix is not my name, I don't look like that, and I started out with more information about you than anyone would consider fair."

"Fair," he snorts. "It may have escaped your notice, bounty hunter, but life is never fair."

I say nothing to him. I let him continue. The dust around us settles.

"I am even less than a lie. Sadly, I am exactly what you see. Get out while you still can. Don't trust me." I don't break eye contact, I don't lower my wand. He is not the boy who couldn't see me, and not yet the man that doesn't know how to look at me. Here, in no man's land, we are on the same page. I lean in as much as I dare.

"I really don't trust you," I whisper.

"Good. And do you respect me already?"

"Starting to." I say it with a grin.

Simultaneously, we lower our wands, without moving an inch away from each other. Slowly, he raises his hand, but stops himself before touching my skin. "Yes?" he asks, voice silky.

"Yes." His touch is light and careful as he pushes away a strand of hair that has escaped the braid, touches my cheek, my lips, and carefully raises my chin, smooth cool skin in contrasts to the battle heat that is still in us, allowing me to take control in the midst of the uncontrollable storm that is our life right now. No explosion of minds like before on the roof. But something else explodes in me, and all the single parts melt into his hands.

"Yes."

Things are easy in the forest, I guess. Fire keeps you warm, darkness hides you, and a wooden cabin with furs on the bed, well, allows you to sleep. Or not sleep, like in my case. A man and a woman are nothing but a man and a woman. No loyalties, no sides, no spies or timetravelers, no questions, nothing complicated. You go in the direction you are drawn to, you do as you please, and if two people happen to want the same, there is nothing there to stop them from obtaining it.

I must have fallen asleep, still, in the early hours of the morning. As I wake up, I am alone. The cabin is completely fixed, no trace of the destruction we caused. On the nightstand, there is a cup of coffee, kept warm by magic. On the cup leans a little note. The cramped handwriting says: _Gone to Dumbledore. Sorry about your bounty. Not sorry about the rest. SS_

"You bastard," I grin as I store the note away. As I drink the coffee, I try to find out if my body feels different to me, now that it is a woman's body. I have to admit that it doesn't. I'm stronger from the months in the woods, more muscles, my features are sharper than before. But on the inside? No. Nothing. More relaxed, maybe, now that the tension has been erased. Good, definitely. Dumbledore will still consider the deal as fulfilled, I guess. He got what he wanted, right? Okay, me too, but that is none of his concern. I have to ask him about the clothes I came with, I think, and a stronger de-aging potion. And maybe another potion, just in case.

 


	23. the raw wind like a scarf; love is a faun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh. things will get, well, difficult now. just like real life.  
>  thanks for all the comments and encouragement!  
> ***

 

"Ready, Hermione?" I nod.

"Sir, about Harry..."

"We have discussed this. They cannot really harm him."

"But it does harm to his soul that they will try!" I snap. I have said this so often during the last days that the words should have lost their meaning. But they haven't. And what's worse, they haven't changed a thing. Another mountain to carry from now on. Am I really no good at all? What it is worth to time travel if you can't change a single damn thing?!

"Fighting evil doesn't automatically make you good," I snap my last and most horrible weapon, an attempt to manipulate his behaviour, a shout to to the core of who he wants to be. It doesn't help.

"Hermione, you will understand that..."

"I do understand," I say as coldly as I can. "There is one more thing you need to know. In the future, after my first time jump, you apologized to me for how you behaved. You didn't mention my second jump, though. I hope that then, you'll remember this and at least feel a little bit embarrassed."

He chuckles at that, and right now I hate him. "Just look at yourself now, my dear, what a woman you have become. And then ask yourself if you're angry. I, for my part, will be nothing but proud to call you my friend and ally in the future."

I can only shake my head. That man. "Anything else, sir?" I ask.

"Oh, now that you mention it. I would like to borrow the Time-Turner you borrowed from the ministry after your last jump. It seems to be quite handy."

"How do you even know about this? I've been so careful?"

"Yes indeed. But it has its bright sides, being me. So if you please?"

I never really felt good about using it any more anyway. I cheated on my hunt for Severus and left myself hints from time to time, but I don't intent to do a hunt like that ever again. So why not? I hope he time-splinters himself with it or something. I take it out of my bag for him, and explain the five layers of stasis and anti breaking spells I put on it.

"You know the rules?" I ask sharply.

Albus Dumbledore giggles. "You and I, we better not talk about rules, right?" With that, he releases the time sand out of the glass and starts the complicated spells and enchantments that will sent me home. I really need to learn to do that on my own. Time seems to have a high interest in me.

I am only dizzy for a moment when I re-enter the scene in the Ministry of Magic. Finally looking like myself again, I reappear behind Bellatrix. I thought a lot about what to do now during the last months, and the satisfaction of the surprise attack is all mine. I smash her into the next wall and knock her out with my Stupor.

I hear yelling in the room right next to me. Ron! Quickly I am in the next room. Ron is struggling against - brains? Oh, the irony. Severus is going to love that. I jump down, and try my knife on the brain tentacles, but I can't get through. Sectumsempra, on the other hand, goes through them like butter. Ron moans, but he seems ok.

Another scream. Really, what has happened? I've been gone for a minute and it is so much worse. I quickly jump on my board. I have to get them out of here, all of them, I fight best when I'm alone! I see Luna, and Ginny, and Neville, cornered by four Death Eaters. I cannot play low now, not even for the sake of my secrets, and fire a row of spells at them that would make Kingsley proud. And oh how I hit the mark. No one ever looks up.

Only that this time someone does.

One of the Death Eaters has a protective shield around him, and my spell bounces off, and he turns around so quickly, athletically, black hair under the mask waving, that I can only look down on him in shock. "Protego!" I yell, but at the same time the Death Eater yells "Sectumsempra!"

I try to get away, duck behind my board, but the spell cuts like a sword through the wood, my protection, my clothes, my skin, muscles, flesh. The pain presses the air out of my lungs. I want to scream, but I cannot make a sound. I let go of the pieces and clench my chest reflexively; the wood shivers under my feet as I hold myself together in mid-air. Something warm and moist presses against the palms of my hands. And a thought, as sharp as the curse, cuts through my heart: _You have only ever heard one person use that spell_. And once again I fall.

The first things I notice is the smell of hospital. Herbs, cleaners, fresh linen. It is really embarrassing. I survived over a year in the woods, fought Death Eaters and trolls and spiders and a Dementor-Boggart-Teamup, found and brought back one of the most impressive wizards of their time, and then I get knocked out by the first Death Eater to raise his wand.

Because my rationality was drowning in emotions, and I was afraid it would be him, and I was worried for all my friends - my young friends - that I lost my focus. People make everything so _difficult_.

I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to wake up. I failed. I couldn't even protect a bunch of teenagers, I couldn't help my Harry, I couldn't fight these Death Eaters, all my skills and training and successes are useless when it comes to dealing with groups of people, and their dynamics, and their reactions and emotions and everything. I don't have Harry's instincts, or Ron's easy understanding of situations, or Severus' cold overview. I'm just a little nerd with a hoverboard. As long as I don't know what has happened, who died, who got hurt, who suffered because I failed, nothing has happened yet. Schrödinger's Battle.

"Everyone is alive, apart from Sirius Black, who managed to fall through the Veil of Death," a cool, aloof voice says. He hasn't spoken to me in that voice when we were alone for years. Meaning, he is either really pissed at me, or we are not alone.

"Severus also managed to heal you, child, but I have no idea what spell he used. Since I really can't be having with his smug face any longer, please do me a favor and wake up," Poppy demands in a voice that makes me clap open my eyes in an instant.

"Welcome back," the matron says, and wanders off after a quick peer down my nightgown. I take a look myself. There is a lot of bandages. Severus sits in a chair next to my bed.

"Dolohov got off. I taught him that spell years ago, but sadly I wasn't able to get rid of him since. He seems to live under a personal paranoia of attacks from above ever after the first war. Any idea why?" It is still the silk voice, and his hands are clenched to the armrests, and he stares at me without blinking. Shit. Does he know? Does he even suspect - oh, I am so, so screwed.

I say nothing.

"Why didn't you trust me in Umbridge's office? This was all for nothing." Still no movement, just staring.

"I did. Harry didn't. Couldn't let him go alone," I mumble. My head hurts. Everything hurts. I see a glass of water on the night stand, take it carefully, and start to drink. It feels good. "Also, your cover."

"Don't tell me you thought about my cover," he hisses.

"I did. Check my head if you don't believe me," I hiss back, knowing that he isn't going to. "I do care for your safety, prick. Just the Order appearing would have been suspicious."

He sneers at that. "I told you to keep away. Do you understand the prize of your stubbornness now?"

"Starting to." He flinches at that. _Fuck_. Severus puts his hands down, leans forwards, and stars at me. "You are different than yesterday."

"Everything is different."

"What happened in the Ministry?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Really, you don't want to know."

"There has never been a thing I didn't want to know. If the truth shall kill them..."

"...let them die? No, not letting you die." Carefully I try to sit up. It hurts. I cannot suppress a tiny moan. No sympathy in his face.

"You look different. And I don't mean older. I have seen you without de-age before." He leans back, hands building a tiny roof and fingertips touching his lips as he glares at me. I am being deduced.

"You also move different. Aware. Took the glass without looking. You are tanned. Your hair is brighter. Exposed to sunlight. Your curls fall different. Tight braids for a long time, dried in them. New scars on your arms. Hands. More tattoos. You are skinnier."

I cross my arms. This won't end well, I know. I really should go, leave, turn away. I don't want to. Also, I can't. I'm not well. "Done, Sherlock?"

His nostrils shake, and he is even paler now. "You time-traveled again."

"Yes."

"Accidentally or with a quest?"

"The travel was an accident, but I got a quest before I could come back."

"At least our paths didn't cross that time, so you had no chance to try and manipulate me with what you know now. I would remember meeting another know-it-all, wouldn't I?"

I really, really want to hex him for that, but I also understand why he is leaching out that hard. He has already come to the right conclusion, but does not want it to be true, because of how it would affect everything now. Of course it is a bloody mess. All that felt easy in the forest cabin is absolutely everything but easy here. The voice of reason sticks it's head around the metaphorical corner, winks at me, and shows me the finger. _Told you so._

"Yes, I am done. You lied to me," he gets up and paces through the room, ending up in front of the window, hands behind his back.

Not having the dark eyes pierce me makes me brave again. "I did not. I did, in fact, warn you."

"You made me like you."

I snort at that, and get punished by immediate chest pain. It is really not fair to do that now. But when has life ever been fair? I take a deep breath. Or, well, as deep as I can with that fresh wound. I'll probably only have that once chance. "Now that's ridiculous. You liked Felix, and I like you back, and if this whole episode means anything, that that out of this context, out of our circumstances, we _work_. As a team, as partners, as a couple. I am an adult," I take a break here both to breathe and to let that sink in, "and I made a choice in the forest, and I would gladly make it again, even if I knew that you are being an idiot over it."

"If you were an adult, you would understand that people never are without context, or without circumstances," Severus counters coldly. "We are where we are set." He leans on the window frame, turning back to me, crossing his arms with one of his teacher-gestures.

I mirror his crossed arms and stare right back, and hope that having to look up to him doesn't minimize the effect. "We are not chess pieces. We can set ourselves anew."

"The way you and Albus set yourself up to persuade me to return to this hell?"

"Don't be unfair, you know very well that time is fixed, and that you were already here before I came back to get you!" Now my voice starts to get shrill.

"Yes, you made sure of that, didn't you, righteous little Gryffindor?" It would be easier to be mad when I would really be that righteous, and without doubt. "I am sorry you feel that way," is all I can say now "I had hoped that you would know I wasn't pretending."

"All I know is, that as far as I am concerned, nothing has happened in the forest. At all. Or in the library, or on the tower, and I will certainly never see you in my room ever again."

I wait. I know him better than that. Suddenly he is right beside my bed, kicking away the nightstand. " _What did you even think_? Do you think at all? I hope you had your fun, girl, because it won't be funny now, I can promise you that! And don't even try to settle for that 'helping' bullshit again, because I see no way how... how Albania should help me in any way, posing as your damn teacher in the next years? You are a student, for Merlin's sake!"

"Just for your information, Severus Snape," I hiss at him, because even my understanding can be pushed to an end, "the earth revolves around the sun and not around you."

He opens his mouth to keep raging, but I am getting really angry now. "Albania wasn't some stupid charity work. I had the deal that I drag you back here dead or alive, and after doing so our Dearloved Leader was willing to send me back to my timeline. Everything else was for me. Not even you, or us. Just. For. Me. Wish fulfilment." I haven't even flinched.

"Don't lie to me," he hisses through clenched teeth.

Frustration makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't. I have needed years to control my emotions, to not cry in public, to not yell at every idiot I meet, to not tell everyone what they do wrong all the time. I also have needed years to accept people near me again, close to me again, after my time as a ghost. And I have worked my butt off for my Occlumency, and I treasure it highly. So, tearing it down now and let the wave of emotions crush over Professor Severus Snape is not a rational decision. It's no decision at all.

It just happens, and I lay there and let it go, wounded, tired, broken. It is incredibly satisfying to see him understand. I guess that after a certain amount of bullshit in your life, you stop to believe that you are wanted at all, in any sense of the matter. For that, Harry is way more normal than he should be. He has problems with his temper, but from what I know about child psychology (admittedly not that much) he should be a complete emotional wreckage with trust issues as big and deep as the bloody atlantic ocean...

But back to the train wreck that is me and Severus. I have forgotten how to openly show affection, and he has never learned to show it or recognize it, so now I am laying here and let the wild stream of emotions bleed out of what used to be an Occlumency river. My worries about Harry are in there too, also the sadness concerning the fact that my parents don't know about me, and the loneliness from the Room of Requirement that never really goes away, how unattached I am, how I long to disappear in the forest. There is also a certain pride concerning all I have achieved so far, the thrill of the hunt for him in no man's land, the excitement of being out of consequences for once, the satisfaction of what my rebellion against Umbridge has set into motion. You can't really filter that, once it breaks out. But mostly, mainly because it takes up so much of my mind, it is ME AND HIM that I let him see.

The stolen hours of the night with me as a Whisper, the conversation I keep playing through in my head, all the times I wanted to tell him something, share something with him, and could not, our few days in the wilderness, the adrenalin and passion and joy I felt with him by my side, fighting back to back and sleeping side by side, and, most importantly, what I feel now, what I have felt ever since I came back to my time.

I don't even know what I expected. Maybe a happy ending, with violins in the back and mutual confessions of undying love. But life just isn't a story.

"This can't be," is all he says. No anger, no passion, nothing. The cold mask, it could just as well be silver. He doesn't believe me.

Once again, the voice of reason is the quickest participant of the jury in my head that judges my every action, and everything I didn't want to see for a while now comes knocking.

_No, H. It's not about believing. He doesn't want you. It is painfully obvious, but you don't want to know. Lily, stupid._

The voice shows no mercy. _You saw his Boggart. You saw his Patronus. You were there. That wasn't just friendship. That were soul mates, Ying and Yang, two sides of the same coin._

Bullshit, brain, stop the worst case scenarios for once, okay? That wasn't love. That wasn't even real friendship. There was no trust, no forgiveness, no growing together. Just pining and jealousy and habit and loving the other as a picture, not a person. And it is over. She has been dead for a decade.

 _The last one was harsh_ , comments another voice in my head. I shrug. Life is harsh.

_Argument however you want to. Patronus, H. The form of a Patronus doesn't lie. She was the best thing in his life and you'll never compare. Didn't you hear? It can't be._

"It is, anyway," I hear myself say through the waves that are rushing in my ears, after my internal monologue has come to an end. "But don't worry. I will adjust."

Slowly, I raise my walls again and master the flood. There is a tiny movement in my direction, but I am done reading gestures and making a fool out of myself for today. I close my eyes and turn away as much as I can, and I wait untill I hear him go, and then the tears come and come. For him, Albania has happened over ten years ago. Maybe it's not that important any more, a memory of an extraordinary witch (which I destroyed now). For me, it was literally yesterday.

I not ashamed of my outburst. I think after that, I deserve a good cry. Madam Pomfrey releases me soon after, with intense words about how I should take care of myself. I nod like a good little apprentice, keep it together until I am out of sight, make it to my dorm and bed on shaky legs, and settle for the second round of crying. But the tears, too, leave me. So I just stare at the wall without really seing it.

It is all over. I lost it all. And someone is dead because I am no use with people. I tried to play my own game of manipulations, with the DA and Harry, and now he lost one of the few adults that care about him. And I tried to find out what it is with Severus and me, and found the big and terrible nothing. I am no strategist, no warrior, no good friend, and apparently no lover either. I failed everything.

I hear Parvati and Lavender come in. After a short, whispered conversation, Parvati approaches me. "Hey, Bossbabe," she says carefully. I dont want to talk to her. She wasn't in the Ministry, she wasn't in Albania, she was not forced to live in a body she is way too old for, and she is not unwanted. I have never seen Parvati wanting a boy (or, as rumor has it, a man) and not getting him.

"Look, I know it's complicated, and I know it hurts, and I know we aren't as good as friends as we should be, but we are here for you. Lav, go get Ginny, will you?"

Glad that Lavender left the field, I let Parvati hug me. Ginny comes soon after. She has been on the quidditch field, smells like wind, and her cheeks are red. I let her pull me into her lap, still tearless, and Parvati brings us tea and cookies.

"Harry is over the edge, too," Ginny tells me. "He wanders around on the ground all day, luring around people, but can't stay with someone when you try and keep him company. I'll still try, though, some temper tantrum doesn't scare me."

Harry. My best friend. I should be there for him. I should be what he needs. I should hug him until everything he went through would dim down to a pain he could tolerate, to make up for all the things I should have known about him, and his childhood, and his life, but never found out, _because I don't get people._ I should work on that with all I have, improve, learn, make it the ultimate goal: Getting people. But I can't. I have literally nothing left. You can't fix anything when you're in pieces yourself.

But I need to start. I owe it. I made so many mistakes that I can never even dream about making up for them. I owe so much. "I find it hard to believe that anything scares you, Gin," I say and I really want to smile for her. I just can't.

"Eh, you did, when you blasted that door open before the Order came. I thought you would rip them apart by hand."

"You know what, ladies, I'll leave you to your war stories. I love you girls but sorry, no, not for me." Parvati has turned white and her voice is shrill as she runs off. Ginny raises her eyebrows on her, but I can't get mad. I would run away too if I could.

 


	24. who insists his playmates run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! In this one, I'm filling a gap that always kind of bothered me in the books. Hope you like it. I know it's getting quite dark for now, but hey. They fucked up pretty much.  
> ***

 

It is the first time I take a calming draught to sleep. With doctors as parents you become quite careful about the "little helpers". They were probably right, though. I dream that I am awake half the night after fleeing from a dream of that Trelawney Fight Corps being cornered, and that I wander the empty castle afterwards, end up in the Room of Requirement, and in the mirror that didn't show my reflection is another me now, blacker, with dreadlocks and glasses and a white lab coat, surrounded by complicated raster of floating blue formula. She stares at me thoughtfully, takes off her glasses to chew on one bracket, and her eyes are mirrors.

I wake up with a racing heart at 3 am, pain in my chest that can be from the wound or not, and need all my spite to force my eyes shut again and my numb mind back to sleep. All I want to do is sleep, maybe for the next one hundred years, until all of us and all of this are long lost in time. I'm not even granted until five in the morning before Professor McGonagall gently shakes me awake. Why am in the common room?

"I am sorry, Ms. Granger, but some aurors from the ministry are here. They found Professor Umbridge, and insist on hearing your testimony."

"...kay" I mumble, and try to smooth my braids. Instead my fingers get tangled in bushy brown hair. I sigh. The Umbridge situation had been over a year ago. Now, I wouldn't have done it that way. I would have taken her out myself, early on, before any blood quill would cross the boarders of the place I should have guarded. But I'm late for that. Too late.

We meet in McGonagall's office once more. Kingsley is here, and two aurors I have never seen before, also the other heads of houses. All of them. He doesn't even look at me.

Between the aurors, a figure is cowering. Dirty, ripped clothes, huge and fearful eyes with dark circles under them. I know I should feel guilt. Or pity. I don't.

"You!" She shrieks and points at me with a chubby finger. "You... bastard mudblood!"

My mind races in never-known speed. Emergency plan, quick. I may be in pieces, but I am not out of consequences, and I cannot start to make up if I am on the run from justice.

So, now. Get her for what she did, deny that you knew what would happen to her, keep the others out of it, shove the ball back to the ministry. You are a seventeen-years-old girl that just got cursed by a Death Eater in a battle with Voldemort. What would be the appropriate reaction?

_Tears._

I didn't cry openly in years.

_Better start now. Look at Severus. He hates you, he doesn't even look at you, he denies you his love, his friendship, even his company, you are just a silly girl for him, no, a traitor, someone who used him, hurt him, fooled him, tricked him, ever since you started to act as Whisper, you can never even think about competing with good, pure, magic-radiating Lily..._

Huge tears stream down my face in seconds. Now that was a self manipulation right out of the book. Emotional pain unites with the physical pain of my new scar. I pull away the collar of my blouse, as if I would be bothered by the fabric scratching the freshly healed wound. Professor Sprout sucks in air with that noise that sounds like a reverse hiss.

"But, Professor..." I get out with a very pressed voice.

Not good enough. More pain. More angst. _He hates you, he will never talk to you again, you had something good but you couldn't let it be, right, you destroyed it, you destroyed it all..._

"Why would you say something like that to me?" I croak at him, looking at her. Use what you have. Start where you are. Protect Harry. That is what this is all about. Make up. Save Harry.

"Let us all calm down," says the older auror. They haven't introduced themselves. Momo's Grey Men jump into my mind.

"Calm down? Calm down?! She made the half-men take me!"

I start ugly crying now, including sobs. "I... I... didn't know they were there in the forest, I didn't _know,_ she said she'd torture Ginny just because we broke in her office, I... I couldn't let her, not Ginny, not in front of _Longbottom_..." That was a spur of the moment thing, Neville's hate for Bellatrix popping up in my mind. Sorry, mate, I hope you understand. It works. The aurors flinch. Severus, who stands right behind Umbridge in my line of view, has something unreadable cross his face.

The old auror steps in between me and Umbridge. "I'm sorry we have to put you through this again, poor girl. But we need answers now. Why did you break in there?"

"Sir, I..."

"My name is Phil, Miss Granger. Here." He hands me a clean handkerchief with a monogram stitched in the corner. I wipe my face and then clench it in my hands. Phil, eh?

"I-i-i-t was my fault. Things got horrible, sir, uhm, Phil. It... it... we ran out of dittany for the blood quill wounds, and the first years sometimes cried the whole night, and the Professors couldn't protect them any more because it was all a Ministry Decree, and it was so horrible, and Harry, oh, Harry, he was so brave ... we wanted to reach out to Professor Dumbledore, but we only got the old house-elf, and he is spell-bound and could only say... only say Ministry..."

Sorry, Kreacher, but they wouldn't believe the whole Sirius thing right now. Lying is _hard_. Phil doesn't really buy this, I'm afraid. He opens his mouth for another question, and Umbridge opens hers, too.

_Quick - think! What do you know?_

Phil - old, well-groomed, married according to ring, glasses, ink stains on his hands. A watch like the Weasley family clock on his brown wrist, five watchhands. Dad, maybe grandfather. Stepped in between me and Umbridge, protective, gave me his own hanky.

It is a risk, but desperate times, desperate measures. With a huge sob I throw myself into Phil's arms. He catches me immediately, holds me gently, and pats me calmingly on the head. Bingo. Dad reflexes. I cry on his shoulders for a good few minutes. It is nice, being held for once.

Phil grumbles "There, there, baby girl, I know it is hard... I know... don't be scared, the aurors will handle this now, you don't have to be brave any more..."

"We should leave the minors out of this, Phil," says Kingsley with his gentle, deep voice. He offers a way out for the aurors without them losing their face. "If we find a solution with the teachers now, maybe the liga of old dames will not sue our entire asses for letting things go wild at a boarding school."

"Right, right... Professors, if you don't mind..."

"Of course not," McGonagall agrees immediately. "Maybe your coworker should bring Dolores to a healer, and we have some tea with Albus."

I know it is maybe not the smart thing to do, but sometimes you need to do something for yourself. What point has winning when your enemy doesn't know they are defeated? From Phil's shoulder I raise my eyes to Umbridge and face her directly. She looks away. Good.

Severus still looks over my head. Victory tastes bitter, and the adrenalin dims down, until I am numb again. I did it, I talked us out of it, and nothing has changed, and nothing will. Phil the agent gently lets go off me, refuses to take his hanky back, and they all leave. I try my best to sit still and look small and lost, while I wonder about the liga of old dames and their political influence.

Once they are out, I breathe. That was hard. And the day isn't over yet. As I hurry out of the office I happen to run straight into Malfoy Junior. "Mudblood," he greets.

"Punching bag," I reply, and suddenly I wonder what sarcastic secret nickname he had chosen for himself, if it had been a fun birthday party, if people still talked about his mother driving around in an ice carriage, if he feels at home in Slytherin. After a year in the forest I don't see my childhood enemy any more. I just see a boy. A young boy, raising a wand at me with pale, shaky fingers. What are we all doing? A crusade of children, where sides are picked at age eleven, or even sooner, a battle none of us wanted.

Actually I am beyond caring about my own safety right now, and I don't move to defend myself. I scratch the scariest stare I got out of my tiredness.

"They brought my father to Askaban, and you and your kind will pay. Why not start right now?"

Suddenly I am even more tired. Hell, what is _wrong_ with everyone? Carefully and slowly I raise my hand to my collar and pull it down, so he can see the red curse scar that begins right under my throat. "It already started, Draco." Somehow my voice is soft, and dark, and more Felix than Hermione. Well, then, maybe I am more Felix than Hermione now, maybe the lie has caught on. "And you should start to make smart decisions. Of course you won't listen to me, but ask yourself: Once your father has been broken out from Askaban, will his old friends forgive him for losing that battle? Is forgiveness really a thing among your people?"

"You don't know shit about our people, Granger," he hisses. Another baby snake. Just a baby boy in a crumbling world, desperate after losing his dad, suddenly talking and swearing and shaking like the rest of us; cannon-fodder.

"Neither do you, kid. Take your mother and run. Run as far as you can and don't look back." Knowing that the adults are just around the corner, I take the liberty to just push his wand away and leave, turning my back to him, really and honestly considering to take my own advice for once. I deeply long for the woods.

 

 

 

 


	25. Tell now, we taunt where black or white begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, friends. This is another painful one, complicated and took a long time to finish.  
> ***

 

It seems like a Merlin-forsaken miracle, but the school year actually does end. The morning of our departure, I sneak away in all the chaos and wander to the boarders of Hogwarts. I miss my hoverboard dearly. Not only because of the speed and the easy way to move around unnoticed. It has been with me for so long now, years and years, it's like losing a friend. Another one. Still, I've got stuff to do. The boarder is highly protected now, but the castle still knows me, so I slither out without problems.

Now, first of all, some transfiguring, and soon I slip into my second skin like you slip into your favorite clothes. Once the black braids touch dark brown shoulders, I feel better.

With a sharp _crack,_ Felicitas Ulla Corn-Karate appears at the breakfast table at Privat Drive No. 4, Harry's empty chair. "Blessings be upon this house," I say kindly, in a manner that I downright stole from Poppy. She uses it to indicate that there can very well be other things upon a house.

Dudley Dursley shrieks like a scared baby Acrumantula and jumps with a speed I did not expect from him from his chair and under the table. Petunia spills coffee everywhere. Vernon Dursley turns red immediately, and points the first thing at me he can grab with his chubby hands. It is a baguette. I am a little impressed that he is always ready to start shit with wizards, even though he fears us so much. Still, just to make a point, I let the baguette burst into bluebell flames.

"P-petunia! I thought you said that we won't see any of them again! I thought you talked to that black man after the boy almost died?"

The black man? Kingsley? Or the Black man - Sirius? Sadly, when the boy almost died doesn't exactly help to narrow it down.

"I did, love. I don't think she's... from his group anyway!" Petunia enters the pronoun game and tries to hide behind Vernon. Pathetic muggles, really. I fold my hands to a tiny roof in front of my mouth, and smile my Felix-smile.

Vernon goes supertomato red. I wonder if his head will explode. "Ha! She's got the same - vibes! I know these people, they cannot fool me! She is just like ... she's a _Snap!_ "

Snap. Snape. The Black Man. Severus was here to threaten the Dursleys. Ha. Doesn't care, my ass.

"I have come to remind you of your promises," I say with a gentle smile, a shot into the blue. "Sadly enough you do not care to be a family to one of the kindest and most loyal young people out there but that is your loss. But in case I hear of you mistreating him again, it will _really_ be your loss."

"We know," Vernon fletches his teeth into my direction, "when we do, everything we care for will turn to ashes into our mouths. I am no fool, lady. I remember!" He pokes his own palm violently with his sausage fingers. How poetic, Sev.

"Good. Have a nice life." I still need at least a turn of head to Apparate, but I am constantly coming closer to the deadpan spite on-the-spot-disappearing Severus did as a young man in Dumbledore's office. With a _crack_ I am gone and land at the Hogwarts boarder again. A little powerwalk later, I reach the Great Hall in time to catch up with Harry and Ron for the train ride. Phew.

The ride goes by without problems, I set my friends off to their families, mumble something about 'meeting my folks at the muggle station' and slip off again without looking back.

I Apperate into the empty Forest of Dean, to set up a quick camp and leave Crooks, but mostly to prepare for my next task. For a moment I enjoy the silence of trees and the mental image of the motionless Dursleys, staring at an empty chair and a smoking baguette, but then I get serious quickly.

There is something else I need to do, and it needs to be done now. I owe them. I stay myself, because some things need to be faced without armor, and go through the sentences I want to say, and then I Apparate again.

 _Crack_.

At least, Grimmauld Place is still open for me. I can still find it. Carefully I cross the lawn, and knock three times.

Time stretches. Finally, I hear something stir. Remus Lupin opens the door. He is pale, worn, and the rings under his eyes are almost black. He doesn't wear his usual neat cardigan, instead he drowns in an oversized lilac Victorian velvet shirt. I press my lips together and miss the silky cardigan that got destroyed by glass splinters from time turners a few days or over a year ago, depending on how you count. Even spider silk can't survive everything. Which brings me back to the topic immediately.

"Professor Lupin."

"Hermione. Come in."

I enter the house carefully. The silence presses heavily into my ears. Not even the portrait whispers.

We go into the kitchen, and then we stand there. Candles float, like they do in Hogwarts. The kitchen is still dark, and the ceiling is high, and it feels like a cathedral. A clock is ticking in the back.

"Tea?"

"Thank you, professor," I mumble. With a cup in hand at least I could hold onto something.

"I am not your professor, Hermione."

"I... I know."

The clock ticks. He moves to the counter, opens the drawer, and his hand freezes in the air. He forces himself to look away from the colourful striped mugs. Finally he closes the cabinet, and goes to wash a blue mug that sits on the table.

The water rushes. The kettle whistles. The clock ticks.

Suddenly, Remus Lupin turns around. His movements are wolfish. The full moon is coming. There is a little red spark in his eyes. Or maybe I only imagine it. The mug in his hand isn't clean. Soapy water drops to the ground.

"Who are you?" His voice is cold. "And no excuses."

I swallow. It has to be done. "I am Hermione Jean Granger. I was your student."

"Go on."

"After the year you taught us, I had an accident with a Time-Turner. I fell back to the seventies, to your fifth year."

The clock ticks. Remus nods slowly. "You stayed the whole year."

I nod, and do my best to keep eye contact.

"It was you who saved Snape from me in the Shrieking Shack, right?"

"Yes."

"And why," he says slowly and quietly, and it is almost a growl, "why did you let Sirius die?"

And there it is. The big and terrible question. But I held myself together in mid-air. I can hold myself up straight right now.

"Dolohov hit me with a curse before you all even entered the Veil Room. I was knocked out cold." The scar is clearly visible under my throat and goes down in a straight line, until it disappears in my V-neck.

"Did he."

We stare at each other.

"I have only ever seen one person use that curse, Hermione. And ever since four fourth year I can _smell him all over you_."

I open my mouth to contradict, but then I understand, close it again, and rearrange. "The robe. Actumantula silk. I had a nervous breakdown at the end of my fourth year. Professor Snape helped me to calm down again with Occlumency, but I got so hypersensitive that this was the only material I could stand. I got the same robes."

"Maybe. Or maybe you two have a very inappropriate affair, or you want one with him, and that is why you killed his old enemy."

I know he is in pain. I know he grieves. But do I deserve this? Do I deserved to be hit with words like this, so he can shift the blame for the unblamable to someone else?

"I did not. I would never. Sirius is so important to Harry, even if I did hate him I would never do this," I try to explain.

"If you care for Harry so much, and if you were in the past -"

"Professor... Remus. Please. Not this. Time is a fixed construct. You cannot change the future, only if it already has been changed. Nothing I could have done... and I thought about it, oh how I thought about it, you can't believe... I would have done everything, if I had any chance to give Harry a happy life... anything."

"But you did nothing." Words like knives and I stand in the cold kitchen, holding myself together.

"I do, I _do_ care for Harry..."

"And then why did you manage to fight a werewolf and not a single Death Eater? _Why did you save Snivellus Snape and not Sirius?_ " The mug falls out of his hand, and slowly, so slowly, to the ground, where it shatters into a million pieces, and the candlelight reflects in soap bubbles and shambles.

Remus Lupin had, despite all, enough happiness and warmth in his life to never even think about mental shields, and the memory is bright and clear even for me to see, as if projected to the high ceiling, and just as slow as the mug, Sirius Black leaves the world through a soft veil. _But people are not rain or snow or autumn leaves; they do not look beautiful when they fall,_ says the voice in my head that fears nothing, nothing but silence.

The portrait starts to yell about animals and traitors. And Remus stands there, and his shoulders shake, and he will either break down crying or attack me right here and now and I will not fight back.

The elephant foot umbrella stand outside falls down with a noise like thunder, and Tonks the auror runs in. Her baggy jeans are so long that she almost trips over the ripped seams. She grabs the door frame with both arms to stopp herself from falling, and her long blue hair is all over her shoulders and face and collarbones, and her Weird-Sisters-top clings close to her body. I never realized how muscular she is. Her shoulders move with her heavy panting. "Remus!"

He is ripped out of his desperate trance by her mere presence, and suddenly I know what her vitality reminds me of. She, too, is pure bursting life, sparking magic, and so painfully real and fleshy and wordly in the dark room. I feel scrawny, and transparent, and hardly even there.

She looks at me as if she sees me for the first time, and then she throws herself at Remus and wraps her strong arms around him. He still stares at me.

"I will tell Harry what you did," he says tonelessly.

My heart sets out, and my limbs turn numb and cold, and the clock ticks, and the candlelight flickers, and Tonks stares at me with huge eyes. And suddenly, we all three hear a whisper voice, and I only understand the night after that it has really been me who said: "No. You will not. You did not become a murderer because of me, so you will keep silent about it, and then we are even."

Even the clock is silent, as Remus Lupin looks back to me, and says: "So be it." And then he breaks down crying, and Tonks holds him, and as they sink to the floor together I turn around and leave.

I have always wondered what would happen if you Apparate without a clear picture of where to land. Well, apparently you could splinter yourself, or land at the place where you subconsciously really want to be. I am not sure which one happened, since the view of the forest hut both feels like a relieve and a clear cut in my chest. Can you splinter out your own heart and keep on going?

All the wards and protections I put over the place are still untouched, and for a moment I wonder if that has been selfish. But the hut was meant as a safehouse for us (okay, empty chest: for me) and also, I still don't care for hunters. I hope they got a cold and went home to their wives to be fed with soup and left both the acrumantula and the deer (damn it, brain! Was that necessary? Get it together!) alone.

Alone. With a deep sigh I open the hut. I have only spent three nights here, but somehow it is more home to me than any other place. Where else could I go? My parent's house is empty, Hogwarts isn't really an option, the Weasleys haven't invited me, and Severus, who offered me a stay in his home after we changed my parent's memories, never wants to see me again. This is all I have left and it isn't even mine.

All I want to do is break down and cry and never go outside again. But I can't. Not yet. I have obligations. I always have obligations. Things have to be done, and now is not the time to fall apart. I go back to the emergency camp, get my stuff and cat, sent a note to Dumbledore about Lupin's state, hide my traces, and only then I return for good.

The door creaks, and the stasis charm was performed to perfection, if I am allowed to say so about my own work. Not even more dust has settled. There is ash in the fireplace, the smell of coffee still lingers, and so does the smell of spell-shredded and fixed wooden furniture, and the magical signature that you can feel and almost smell like the aftermath of a flash of lightning. Sharp gas, almost chlorine, and something unfakeable _new_ to it. Abracadabra. I create as I speak.

I open the windows wide, curl up to a ball in the empty bed, and pull the faded quilt around me, and just sit, and breathe, for hours. I don't turn on the lights. Sometimes, what a person really needs is the night, as it was meant to be, long before we stole the fire. I sit, and breathe, and watch she shadows of the pine trees slowly devour the whole of the wooden wall, until the blue and black and grey of 3 am is all I see.

***

Quote: _People are not rain or snow or autumn leaves; they do not look beautiful when they fall._ Naveed A. Khan

Personal: Once again, I love Remus to bits. But he's just a man, he has feelings, and he has just lost the love of his life. Again. Sometimes, good people do the wrong things. Pain does that.

 


	26. and separate the flutes from violins:

 

Healing. A big word. Sometimes it means complicated operations, a surgeon standing for ten hours and fighting for every fibre of a human heart. Sometimes it means spells, just as complicated, fuelled by compassion and emotion, that weave a shiny dome over the patient. Sometimes it means channelling someone else's pain through your own body, to let it out wave by wave, until the heat dims and the sharp blades leave. Sometimes, it means a cabin in the woods.

Waking up to the birds and the early sunlight is healing. The pattern a yellowed lace curtain draws on the floor is healing. The warm feeling of wooden blanks, honey and caramel coloured, is healing. So is it to wrap your hands around a smooth ceramic mug, a worn down quilt, tracing the Fibanocci spiral at the back of pine cones - this is how the magic twirls at night, this is how birds circle, this is how everything looks once you learn how to look. How everything is connected; understanding this is healing. As is accepting that I may understand how everything is connected, but knowing in my heart of hearts that I will never be connected to it. That I can't be, not after the silence, not after the fall, but that it doesn't really matter in the end, because I can love it either way.

I allow myself to get lost in the details. The heart shape of lime tree leaves. The iridescent chitin body of a bug. A new hover board, transfigured to a smooth wooden pearl on a necklace. Tomato soup. Brushing hair. Fireflies. Poetry. _Invictus_ in the book the Room of Requirement gave me.

Dancing dust in the sunlight.

 _I am the master of my fate_.

Soft, cooling ointment on my wound, taking the pain away.

_I am the captain of my soul._

Clouds like white sails above me.

The nights are bad, though. I have troubles sleeping. Red eyes in the dark haunt me, Sirius Black disappearing behind a curtain, falling. Never Severus, though. I have locked away all thoughts of him as deep in my soul as I dare to. I have to, if I want to heal, and I must heal if I want to make up. You can't fix things when you're in pieces.

But there are other dreams now, nightmares of me running through a war zone, led by Professor Trelawney, who shrieks that my inner eye is useless, but my fire power is huge. Looks like there is something to work out there, too.

I rise with the sun, relieved every morning, and watch the day unfold. The world looks different at five o'clock, as if it is not complete yet. I sit on the roof, drink coffee, and watch it piece itself back together out of blue shadows, dew and bird song, and wait for myself to be pieced back together as well.When the heat comes I enjoy it on my bare shoulders, I lay on my back in the dry summer grass, watch the treetops and the cloud-ships above them, and count all these things. Mum would call them blessings. I listen to the noise the zipper of my new, dark green hoodie makes (it was green or maroon and a moment's choice), and how the grass rustles, and how the trees creak, feel the warmth of Crookshanks, who is stretched out on my side.

Healing also means being by myself on purpose, knowing Harry safe under layers and layers of spells and with his surrogate family soon. I indulge in solitude and silence, and not having to be a person for a while. I have only talked to Shaaaaaaza, who is a matron herself now, and who laughed so hard she fell off a tree when she heard that the silk egg cocoons that litter the lair and the elders always bitch about are worth a fortune for her strange two-legger-friend, and the shady Nocturn Alley dealer that bought them from me, and the shop keeper where I stocked up. Apart from that, I keep to blissful lonesomeness, wear the same outfit for days, and have a whole bucket of ice cream for breakfast. I'm an adult, hell yeah, and days pass by.

A soft tingle on the boarders of my safety bubble kicks me out of my thoughts. "Looks like we've got company, Crooks."

It tingles again, and again. I recognize the pattern. It is the rhythm to We Will Rock You, and _someone is poking my magic_. With a sigh, I sit up. Dumbledore beams at me and waves.

I wave my wand and let him in. "Hermione, my dear friend," he opens his arms, just as he does at the start of term. "What a beautiful patch of land you found here." He looks over to the hut, the moss on the roof, open window, clean curtains the wind chimes I built out of glass sheds and feathers.

He nods at me and moves over to my little front porch, where he proceeds to fiddle a phoenix feather out of his pocket and knots it into the wind chime, of course without disturbing the balance.

I step behind him, Crooks in my arms. The question is nagging in my brain so loud it could be hanging over my head in a speech bubble.

"The young lady that knitted your sweater and sold your supplies happens to be a friend if mine," he explains, still busy with the wind chime. I lift an eyebrow. The lady is about 70. Dumbledore decides to not notice. Now he wordlessly turns the glass sheds to prisms. "Knitting is a loved hobby of mine, and Acrumantula silk is quite a complicated material." A ray of sunshine gets caught in a prism and lights up all the others, until everything is interwoven in a sparkling galaxy of light, a kaleidoscope of shapes. I feel a lump in my throat, because he _understands_ what I am doing here, and what I am looking for, and because he tries to help.

And he left Harry with the Dursleys, and Hogwarts with Umbridge, and me in the room, to teach us how we would miss him and who we are without him.

I want to hate him. I hate it that I cannot hate him.

"Tea, sir?" I give up. I need to look forwards.

"Yes, please. Isn't it time you called me Albus?"

"There are many things I want to call you," I mumble, and he chuckles as always when he's being insulted. I go in, and invite him inside with a gesture. Once we are settled at the small wooden table, and Crooks, the orange traitor, is cuddled up in his lap, I study him. He looks... thinner. Tired.

"I have a question... Albus. Did you leave us alone with Umbridge so that everyone could understand how small and helpless we are without you?"

He chuckles again. "You're becoming quite a good player in this game, Hermione. But that was only half the reason. I finally have an idea on how to defeat Tom. And I mean once and for all. It would have been quite disrupting, having to break out from Askaban each time I found a new hint, don't you think? I was sure that you students, and my teachers, as a team, could endure, and you all did so with great bravura.

So, I had the freedom try and prove my theories. I am afraid that I have been right, and you cannot believe how much I wish I weren't. Or maybe you can, as one of the few. But what he did... it will be... you, Hermione, and Harry..."

"We've got what it takes, but it will take all we've got," I sigh and put him out of his struggle.

He gives me half-smile that reminds me too much of Severus. Suddenly I really understand for the first time that Severus is _his spy_ , that they must have spent hours and nights and years in planning, confiding, discussing, that whatever connection Severus and I may have had is probably nothing to this. This man is how all our stories begin.

Which reminds me of something. "Another question, Albus. Harry once mentioned that, when he got his cloak at Christmas, there was a note with it saying that his dad lent it to the giver before his death. Why did you have the coat, when it maybe could have protected at least Lily? Did you set them up as bait?"

"It looks like that, does it not?" Albus nods sadly. "And that question, and the calmness you ask it, shows me more than anything that I am not talking to a child. Sadly, I only have my word to give you that I didn't. The cloak was a hint on a road I followed that time, a road I hoped would enable me to defeat Tom myself, without putting some baby up to carry the burden of a prophecy."

I think about this as I sip tea. Albus puts another spoon of honey in his. The fifth. "Why did you abandon that road?"

"It turned out to be just a story in the end, sadly. And you can believe me that there isn't a single day going by where I do not wake up, and before I even open my eyes I see all the faces of those paying the prices for my mistakes and miscalculations. You are among these faces, too, my dear. And I want to apologize."

"You've done so before."

"Indeed. But the recent events require another apology, a sincere one. I did not see these events coming, nor did I enable them in any way. I wanted to be there quicker, and I will not forgive myself for the death of Sirius Black. Or for what you had to go through with Remus."

"Did he tell you," I interrupt, worried that he'll be angry about my threats.

"Not exactly. It is..."

"His mind is more than an open book. It literally yells at people." Despite everything, I smile.

"He does, doesn't he?" He looks at me expectantly behind his half-moon glasses.

"I am forgiving him. He grieves. He lost his... he lost everything. His best friend. His love. The last link to the happiest time in his life, his only hope for a happy future. It all just drifted away in a second, how could I not forgive him? I... Albus, can I help you defeat Riddle? I want to. I need to. I want the world back that I discovered when I was eleven, where things were never easy, but still wonderful. I want it for Harry. To be his home. I want to help saving it. This is maybe... all I can do."

"I am afraid only Harry can really help us. But you can help him. And me. And I will try to make up to all of you."

We drink in silence. The wind chime rings softly in the window. Tiny rainbows dance on the wooden table and on my strong brown and Dumbledore's elegant white hands.

"Take care of Harry, will you, Albus? And... and Professor Snape. He doesn't ask for help but he may need it." I say without looking up.

"I will do my best. Once Tom is defeated, and we will defeat him," and a hard tone is in his voice now - he is a soft and clever and nutty old man, until you come too close, "we will all find peace, and allow ourselves to dwell on dreams of second chances and being worthy of forgiveness. But for now we must fight, and stand together, and you are right: It will take all we have got."

And I am still not convinced that this is the right thing to do, to fight now and hope later, but he is still Dumbledore. He is still our best chance. Our only chance.

"Anything else, dear?"

"Um, yes, actually. Do you still have my Time-Turner? And if you have it, why..."

"Why didn't I help Sirius while you were in the healing sleep? There was no time window. There were witnesses. It is fixed."

I sigh. "I know. I just wanted to... I had hoped..."

"I understand. Believe me, I do."

The visit comes to an end. He wanted to assure himself of my allegiance and I gave it to him, to our world, to Harry.

"Oh, and Hermione? Privat Drive is always under guardianship of the Order nowadays. Traditionally, Minerva takes the first shift after the year ended. And let me tell you, I haven't seen her laugh so much in years."

He winks at me, and Disapparates from the front porch. I am left behind to think about what he said, and wonder about him thinking me a player, and then I Apparate to the London Library and raid it for everything about strategy, psychology, society and fanaticism I can get my hands on. It is high time I really read up on these things.

And after the third week of my holiday, around midnight, with the printed words of Sun Tsu under my fingertips, I start to feel prepared for the future that comes. And maybe this, too, is healing.

 


	27. the algebra of absolutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here comes the fluff we have been waiting for, take it, we deserve it, our shipper hearts need it.
> 
> Apart from that, we will start to come awefully close to canon from now on. I still stick with the #no major character death. We'll have to trust in Hermione.

 

The note says: Need to talk. Shrieking Shack, Jul. 10, 22:00. SS

The note is so small I have a hard time reading it. Then, I am having a hard time _processing_ it. He needs to talk. _He needs to talk_. I feel as if everything, and way too much, has been said already. Does he want to throw more accusations at me?

 _What if he is sorry_ , whispers my heart. I shake my head at it. I've read enough about defensive behaviour and the emotional issues a screwed up childhood and trauma can cause, and I am sure by now that he's had plenty of those. Of curse you can outgrow that, but it's a hell lot of work, you have to want it, you have to know how, you have to accept help, and you shouldn't be trapped forever in the place where most of the shit happened; a trigger around every corner is not exactly helpful. Due to a lack of resources I can't exactly say how spying under thread of torture and death by mass-murdering psychopath who killed your one true love plays into it, but I'd risk a guess here and say it is not exactly helpful.

A tear sneaks into my eye. I can list these things rationally by now, but the heart just won't shut up, and whispers of loss and sympathy and fear of all these complications.

The note lays on the table, just an innocent piece of paper. Twenty-nine letters, six numbers, and I feel the foundation of my composure shaking.

_What if he wants to do the work? What if you're worth it to him?_

The thought sends a cruel sting of pain through my chest and I shut it up immediately. That's not how this works. That not how any of this works. And it would be bad if it were like that. No relationship, including friendship, should be built on this kind of power imbalance. You can't save anybody from themselves, apart from yourself.

_What if he wouldn't do it for you, but with you, because it's the right thing?_

And now we have left the realm of reality and went into the dream land, riding a pink unicorn that shits rainbow candy. I shake my head again, and stare at the note, and try to be reasonable.

Apart from all his problems, _I_ have problems with that. I know for sure that the note is not a fake, since only Albus and him would know where to find me. I know that he won't, can't, wouldn't make up with me, not after what happened in the hospital wing. So, it must be serious. A serious problem. Something like Arthur Weasley being bitten by a snake. Something Order Business. Something he needs me for.

 _He needs you_... Now shut up, H, for Merlin's sake! Time to stop hurting myself. Time to get angry. He needs me, so he sends this finger snap of a note and expects me to come running. But I'm not a dog.

These are my holidays, I am spending them in company of my own thoughts, thank you very much, and later with my friends at the Burrow, it's not even a fortnight since I have been rejected in the most unkind way, and I will sure as hell not come running out of my only real shelter for the tiniest scribble.

I say it out loud and hear my voice getting lost in the woods. No. Not good. Cold and cruel and snappish. No. Not who I want to be.

Even after I already stepped into the Shrieking Shack, I still don't know why I'm there. Maybe to throw my pain back at him (cruel), maybe to throw myself into his arms and beg for forgiveness (pathetic), or maybe just to stand around, feeling out of place (probable).

I scan for traps and find a place to hide without actively having to think about it. It's second nature now. Then I stare at the wall I made explode a lifetime ago, and the bed Ron was laying on another lifetime ago, and the corner where Harry trapped Sirius. There is history in this place. Outside, rain starts to fall. Overdramatic bullshit, altogether.

I feel his safety charms scan the place, and amused, I see them miss me. That Hiding-Ward is worth it's money. A moment later, exactly in time, he appears with a soft Plopp. He turns around, notices that he is alone, and looks disappointed.

"Professor." I lean on the wall and manage not to flinch as I find a wand pointed at my face. _Doing good, H. Keep it together._

"We've had that one before, haven't we," I say with the least emotional voice I can manage, and resist the urge to push the wand away, or break out in ugly sobbing. Never sneak up on a spy and stuff. A lifetime ago.

I do neither, but roll my brown, naked shoulders in a very Felix way, casual, at peace with being visible and having a body. Good thing he can't look behind my facade. I have decided to not give up my forest worn Felix-clothes for that encounter; additional security. Even the braids are back; I wish for a moment I had put on the full cover. Felix-me nonchalantly ducks around the wand, and walks to the table. I sit down on the one chair I have previously fixed, and tilt my head, why secretly trying to regulate my harsh breathing. "So?"

He crosses his arms, leaning against the table, mirroring me in an attempt to tower. Kind of works out. Are we never going to get tired of this game? Are we ever going to say something _real_ to each other again?

"I require your assistance."

"A-ha." I figured this much.

"The headmaster has assigned me a dangerous task and strongly advised me not to go alone."

"I doubt he was thinking of me, but do go on."

"He has no problems to assign difficult challenges to students."

Argh. What are we even doing here? What am I even doing here? Do I want to go on some stupid quest with Severus Snape? Why is he talking to me again? Why did he want to see me? Is this going to be a try to make up for what he said back then?

Well, whatever it is, this is not good enough. I understand a lot, but I am a person as well. I have feelings. If this is going to be an apology, I need more than 'Dumbledore wants us to do it'. Or does Dumbledore want us to do it? Does he finally see me as a force to be reckoned with? Who wants me here? And should that really matter so much?

"I have noticed, yes. Still, concerning the recent situation, I doubt it would be good idea to have you seen with Hermione Granger, the mudb-"

"Don't," he interrupts me sharply.

_He called Lily that and their friendship broke, H, you idiot, and then a werewolf tried to eat him and he lost Whisper the same night. Way to go to rip open that wound._

I bite my lip. The banter is not easy any more. Nothing is easy any more. People are never out of consequences, and I know things, and the past and the future are pressing so hard from each side that there is no air left in the present. "Tell me about that quest." I say breathlessly.

"Not before you agree on secrecy."

"I'm not going into this blindfolded."

"You are not making the rules here."

I do the Felix-bitchplease-look. "Wrong. I'm in when I am informed before, and agree with the mission. That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

"I don't need you there," he snaps. Ha. Checkmate. Suddenly, there is air again. "But you _want_ me there."

Silence. Water drops from the ceiling and disappears into the wooden floor.

"...hrs."

"Sorry, Professor?"

"Yes. Happy now?"

And the air is gone. So is the feeling in my legs. How dare he? Happy now? What does that even mean? What does he want? What do _I_ want?

And since I did some really good reading on emotional work and human relationships in the forest, and finally found out that longing stares and overthinking don't solve anything, I scratch together all my Gryffindor courage and _talk_ . "Actually, no. I am not. That fight? That hurt. I do understand you are having a hard time, and you had a hard life - I was there, okay? - and that I made mistakes, a lot of them, but I am not your bloody punching ball. Treat me like a damn person. And if you don't know how, start with some fucking _respect_ . That is easy. It means, when I tell you something that is important to me, you fucking _believe_ it."

Well, that didn't go as planned. Should have been more structure, less swearing, and should leave room for that working relationship with the quest, but you can't change the past (Merlin knows I know that). And I'm glad that it is out. At least I am not crying. Yet.

"That is... a lot of swear words for a short statement."

"And that is you, avoiding conflict." No more nonsense.

He rolls his eyes and throws his hands into the air. "Merlin help me. You want me to talk, is it that? What do you want to hear? I don't even know how to _address_ you. Whisper? Felix? Granger? Hermione?"

Hearing him say my given name - my real name - feels like a breakthrough. Wow. We are really messed up when this is a victory. But it is one, nevertheless. And what he admitted with that is even more.

"Let's start with Felix, for the mission," I say. My traitor voice is soft again. "If I chose to accept it." Of course he doesn't catch the reference.

"All. Right." He runs his hands through his hair and destroys the orderly pony tail he wears for missions. It is a peak behind the wall of composure, a silent confession of him being emotionally compromised. Another step. Things like these don't just slip for Severus Snape. Slipping means death.

"We are to receive the heritage ring of the Gaunt family," he says slowly. "Ancestors to the Riddles. It is probably protected by dark magic, also not easy to find," he explains calmly, meeting me in the middle, doing what I asked him to do. And right now, this is actually all I need.

"Okay."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Again, there is silence. Maybe all the smart books about talking and communication are wrong, and there is no such thing as making up. Maybe there can just be acceptance, and composure, and fighting now and putting off hope for later. Maybe we should silence it all out, until his wish comes true and nothing has ever happened, not in the library, or on the tower, or in Narnia, or Albania. Maybe we will just live it down and go on missions like some Order Members, until all my most precious memories are nothing but shadows. If that is what he wishes. And who am I, compared to a silver doe? Just a lying schoolgirl.

Apparently I have started to Occlude, because I catch myself moving my fingers with the energy flow of magic. I _do_ slip.

"You taught me that, but you only could because I taught you. We created a paradox," he says, tone softer, and the perfectly articulated baritone reminds me that this is adult Professor Snape, who had some conversations with me in the castle, and not my Jedi Knight in the forest. Loneliness is a cold lump in the stomach, and the forest is far away, and emotions are as complicated as ever.

"And yet the world didn't explode. Too bad," I murmur.

"There are worse things than logical loops, even if your brain may find that difficult to process," he offers the beginning of our well-known teasing. I am not sure if I want to engage in a other word duel just yet. But I have nothing left, apart from it. The realization sends icy spikes through my veins, and the cold lump in my stomach starts to get comfortable and lays out a doormat.

"For your information, my brain can process anything, given the time," I growl and bite back tears. "Lets get over with that mission, so that you're free of me again."

"You take it way better than I did back then," he says quietly.

"Take what?"

"Rejection."

"What did you do?"

"I joined the Death Eaters."

That leaves me standing with big, unbelieving eyes. He shrugs it off. "Everyone expected it anyway. I thought I had nothing left to lose, stupid as I was."

"I never liked that statement anyway. There is always something left to lose, even when you don't consider it while you throw all you eggs in the damn basket. Ot whatever the wizard version may be."

"It's the same, actually. Eggs, basket, universal. Tea?"

"Yes, please." We have crossed the line from ridiculous to downright absurd long ago anyway, so why not have a tea party in the Shrieking Shack?

He fishes a thermos out of his pocket, unshrinks it and sits it down on the other side of the table. I pour tea while he steps to the wooden wall and starts to built up a network of maps and notes and red threat. I smile sadly into the metal mug. That, too, is my doing. He saw my net in the forest, and maybe founded a lot of his later work for Dumbledore on the technique, and now every time he works he is reminded of my betrayal. Because that is what it is for him.

I put the metal mug down so harsh that tea swaps over and burns my fingers. "I am so, so sorry," I burst out "I never meant to... I didn't think that... that... I didn't think. That's all. I didn't think and I failed everything. And everyone. And I am sorry." Tears come, cold and strange in my face like the lump in my stomach.

He turns around and crosses his arms. "You need to re-evaluate your definition of everything. I returned to Hogwarts, you returned to your time, you held off the Death Eaters in the Ministry long enough for the Order to step in, Potter is still alive, the rest of the prophecy is safe, and Albus is finally willing to teach the boy himself. With that it is ensured that all our sacrifices are not in vain. Yet."

I sniff and wipe away tears. "You know how to cheer people up, eh?"

"Not my field of expertise, I admit. But you stopped crying, which is an improvement. Also, I realize I am partially to blame for the Ministry, because you associated the spell with me and didn't fight back. I allowed this kind of familiarity between us, and you paid for it with that scar, and Potter's stupid dogfather paid with his life in your absence. Not that I grieve for him, but our Albus-sent savior now carries enough trauma to turn him into another time-bomb."

I need a while to plug all of this apart with mental dentist instruments, until I find that he a) regrets our familiarity, b) managed to blame himself for what happened even though he wasn't even there, and c) kind of implies that I could have saved Sirius if I hadn't been wounded. But other than Remus, there is no blaming me in this. I finally find something to ask where I really want an answer to: " _Another_ time-bomb?"

"Miss Wealsey was possessed, all the Mister Weasleys have issues, Mister Longbottom tried to kill Bellatrix Lestrange with all the menace of a teddybear, the werewolf grieves for his mate, Minerva and Mad-Eye both think of themselves as William Wallace and the other as their kilt-wearing sidekick, and for the rest we have more pathetic redheads, a clumsy punk, a blood-thirsty Veela, one actual capable Auror, a girl that channels enough mental energy every day to blow up the Kingdom twice, and our leader fights the world's horror with candy that bites back. Oh, and me. That is the last hope of the wizarding world. Merlin help us."

I start to giggle helplessly and just admit to myself that I have no idea what the hell I'm feeling any more. Some of the curls have escaped the braids and hide my face like a curtain, and very uncertainly I peer through them in his direction. Do I really channel this much magical energy? Did he mean me?

"On the opposite... the others have a rat, a sadist who can't stop using baby talk, a man in love with his axe, a tacticus with a snake as a belt and an ice queen wife, an eye rolling spy, and an endboss named Flight-of-Death who couldn't even kill an infant. And they all hate each other. Maybe we are not that hopeless after all."

"Maybe, indeed, we are not."

His dark eyes are so intense that the treacherous tears come back, and blinking them away, I want to say something funny, but all I get out is a whispered: "What a mess. And the worst is I lost your friendship."

He raises an eyebrow. "That is the worst? Compared to being sliced in half, crashing back in time twice, living invisible for a year and as a headhunter for another, being accused of having broken Umbridge, made your own parents forget you, and losing your whole social circle to a time jump in mental age that these pathetic children can never catch up to? And everything I saw in your head that I will not bring up right now?"

I nod defiantly. "Yeah."

He sighs. "From all the puzzles in my life you are the one I cannot solve. And the one I cannot escape from."

Now that reminds me that I am still angry at him. I cross my arms, mirroring him (mirrors mirroring mirrors, which reminds me of my dreams, and I have to forcibly rip my attention back to reality), and stare. "Explain."

And to my surprise he actually explains. "Most of my anger at you results in finding out that I am not as independent from everyone as I like to think. Does that make any sense to you?"

Looks like I'm not the only one who did some work. Looks like he did some reading himself. And some thinking. "Some people need people to be independent from," I smile. "And they usually are not aware." I give him this much.

He nods. "You are my beginning, Hermione. Everything comes always back to you. The flow of the magic on the Astronomy tower, the hidden workings of things you set in motion at Hogwarts, Occlumency. You keep finding me, and when you last found me in Albania I was beyond lost. And there, it..." He turns away and walks to the window of the shack now, staring at the castle in the distance.

"I always looked for Felix' face in any crowd ever since. I only stopped when..." He stopps himself, tries to retread behind his walls, tries to hide behind his hair. Whatever he wants to say pains him. Hope, that thing with feathers, melts what I froze on purpose. "I realized I stopped after I found you again. After you revealed Whisper to me. It's not... It was never inappropriate, what I thought about you. I would never disrespect you like that. I found my friend again. My comrade. And after a while I just knew that you were Felix, too. Of course I tried to negotiate myself out of that, because, as you can imagine, it is difficult. After the ministry, I could not ignore it any longer. Now I just... I am conflicted."

"Now that's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"People never... I have never..." His voice is lost.

 _Say it now. You must know. You cannot not know,_ reason forces me to say: "The Patronus. The doe. I understand. And you don't have to... I was wrong for doing what I did. I just thought there might be something good with us."

The break that arises now is long as a century, and the silence hurts my ears. "Lily Evans Potter", he says slowly, after an eternity, pronouncing every word as though mere speaking hurts "had a soul like a flame, and I met her in a place that suffocates every single beam of light that dares to try and touch the ground."

He catches himself and focuses on his hands, instead of a long lost past. Always composed. Always controlled. "What I mean is, she had the talent to see hope in every situation, to admire the beauty in everything, and find good in everyone. Even in me. When we met she needed me as a gateway to the magical world she dreamed of changing to her liking, and I needed her to remind me that I wasn't lost. Of course, that was too much to ask from each of us, and so circumstances, but mostly my mistakes tore us apart."

I nod, biting my lip, and feel the tears rising again. So much crying in such a short time. I didn't even know I had so many tears. Through that watery curtain I can only see his back, and tense shoulders, and when I lean to the side I see his long fingers clenching on the window frame.

"Whisper, but mostly Felix, and even Hermione Granger, much later in my life, all did their best to generate the impression that they chose to spent time with me not despite who I am, despite me, but for me." He takes a break here, even stops breathing, and waits, and I wonder if the silence is as loud for him as it was for me.

"True," I confirm. "And I am glad you worked that out for yourself. No way to say that to someone without sounding like a total ass."

There is the softest of chuckles. "Actually, Albus offered guidance in the process of... working this out. I think when he approached the matter first, I chose similar wording to articulate my opinion of his interference."

Despite everything I feel a grin, too. It fades with his next words: "I have to admit it irritated me that the only three people that ever seemed to care for me, as me, were one and the same, before I understood what it could mean."

And now I am out of words. Carefully making enough noises to warn him (never sneak on a spy, right) I let myself glide from the table, cross the distance between us, and in an act of never before seen bravery, I reach out and touch his shoulder.

If it is possible, he becomes even more tense. But there is a bridge over the abyss now and I will not let go. Battling down the learned behaviour of both Whisper and Felix in my head, Hermione Granger the Know-It-All leans against the back of Severus Snape, and wraps her arms around him.

He still smells a little like pine trees, and also a little like the lose tobacco the boys at home use to roll their cigarettes with, and a little like smoke and a little like soap. It is the hug we were supposed to have back then in the hospital wing, and come hell or high water or Lucius Malfoy with a whole damn seven nation army, this time I will not let go. After what seems like an eternity, I feel his hands on my hands.

I step closer, if that is even possible, and just hold him. Enough with the drama now. I take his hand and sneak to his side, and lean against him, and rest my head on his shoulder where it belongs. He looks away from me, but his hand glides out of mine and around my waist instead, where it belongs, and he holds onto me, just as I hold onto him.

"You need to think this through, Hermione."

My laughter is muffled and half a sob. "I did think this through. For years. Look in my mind if you don't believe me."

"No. I either believe your words or I don't believe you at all."

"And..."

"And I do believe you."

"Good. But?"

"I am old."

"I am broken."

"You are not."

"I am. And it won't work if you can't acknowledge it."

"I can acknowledge it. I just don't like it when you say it like that."

"It is like that."

He sighs. "I couldn't save you either, right?"

I shrug. "How could you have? It's really not your fault..."

"Maybe you are right. Now ask your question already."

"Are you free, Severus?" I whisper it in his shoulders.

"I have sworn oaths. I have duties to fulfil. I have to make up for mistakes larger than life. But..." For the first time ever since we met he hesitates. "You need to understand that I did love her. As my first and only friend. As the ray of sunshine in my grey world. As the one person that could stand me, laugh my sorrows away, hope where I had no hope left. For a while I thought I loved her romantically, before I started to understand what that means. She is a part of me, of who I am and why I do what I do, but you are not competing. If that makes sense to you."

Quotes save me again. "There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice." He nods. We intervene our fingers. "And now your question," I say.

"Are you sure? Because there will be obstacles. Namely everything and everyone."

"I am sure."

He sighs. "You're a student. Whatever we may want, there are rules."

"Em... actually, I'm not. Technically, I mean. I am of age, and I've been Guardian of Hogwarts for years. Albus... Albus told me long ago. I am only still there because of my own free choices, and I answer to no one. He said, if I am correct: Now, you must learn to question everything, and obey yourself."

"Hm. Convenient."

"Wait until it's the middle of the night and Albus corners you for a semi-philosophical discussion that ends with you climbing around in some abandoned wing hunting down something not even a Scamander would try to pet."

There is a small silence. "Anyway, if it would be a problem we'd already know, since Albus put some clever defence charms up when he became headmaster... you know, to protect the student, and also the professors from accusations... History of Hogwarts...

"I know. All the teachers know." I know that he is smiling. "Still," he says. He takes a deep breath, and still looks away, but holds me closer to him as if he is afraid I might slip away, as if he looks for comfort in me, from what I demand of him. "I understand Whisper. What we were back then. I also almost understand Albania. The forest, the quests, adrenaline, fun, youth. But - now? I have nothing to offer. No looks, no riches, no reputation apart from the Big Bloody Bat, no future after the war, maybe not even a tomorrow."

"What about the now?"

"You can have that, if that is what you want."

All the voices in my head, all the constant fighting, the roaring lion and the angry moth and the ever-sharp critique, and reason too, as well as the constantly changing matrix of possibilities and outcomes, fall silent. Yes, this is what I want. More than anything.

I raise my head from his shoulders, and let go of the fabric I was clinging to, and gently turn his face to me. As I wanted for so long, I swipe the hair away, and touch his sharp cheekbone, trace his jawline to his throat, where my fingers meet the silk of his collar again. He smells so good, and I get lost in him holding me, as his steady breath starts to increase.

“Never doubt what you are to me," I answer quietly, "never doubt this is my choice, and that I will chose so again and again. Because you see me. You always see me, and know who I am."

I have to stand on tiptoes to kiss him, and I cup his face with my hands as I do so, and he slings both his arms around me as my lips strife his in the first careful contact. They are smooth and soft, just as I remember them. I press even closer and sling my arms around his neck as I deepen the kiss, and he answers me, and wraps me into his robes, and turns me around to steady me against the wall.

Tucked in safe and sound like that, I do not need any more guarding. Controlled this time I let go of my mental protection, and what I feel for him, how I feel right now, safety mixed with excitement mixed with happiness mixed with longing, gently drifts to the surface of my mind, and reaches out in careful swirls of invisible magic. All my senses are open, and soon I feel the answer touch me like light raindrops, hope and happiness and desire, and understanding, and I understand that bookish cuddly Hermione and sexy strong Felix and mysterious and aloof Whisper are one person to him, just different facets, and this understanding is what makes all the difference for me, what grounds my fluttering nerves until there is only joy.

As our tongues touch so do our minds, when shaky fingers fight with buttons and fabrics we are both amused about ourselves, when finally skin touches skin, we are both at home. Hands, now sure and steady, glide up and down hips and arms and tights, lips touch lips and throats and collarbones and leave glittering trails on familiar, yet unknown bodies, trace scars and tattoos and the marks of time and life, and my heart only flutters in joy when my feet leave the ground because I am carried to the bed. Spells make the years disappear from it, and there is clean silk under me now, and heaven above me. Legs warp around hips and I pull him closer, closer, longing for the warmth I have missed for far too long, strands of hair are wrapped around and round fingers, eyes meet and find assurance in each other, and our minds stay one long after our bodies have been connected.

And I know that I somehow have to keep this moment, for always and ever, that I have to burn it into my mind, or rather plant it and make it grow, until it's roots go so deep and strong through my heart that you'd have to rip it out altogether to let me lose this moment, arms around me, the raindrops on the window, and the howling wind, and the soft sheets under my fingertips.

This. This moment. This dream in between two heartbeats, the place between sleeping and waking. The memory of this. Because, when I read one thing between the lines of this story, than it is that everyone of us will lose everything, that this war will take and take and take until those who are left will stand in nothing but ashes, forlorn like children. But right now, not one of these things matter. Past and future shut up, and I am drowning in a perfect moment, and nothing else matters.

I fall asleep with my leg over his and my arm lazy over his chest, his hand rests in the curve of my hip. Mine, whispers my heart, knowing that this too is a beginning. My thoughts are still unprotected, and he moves a little to kiss me on my head.

"As you wish"

***

  


“There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

  


 

 

  


 


	28. explodes in a kaleidoscope of shapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and another one, to make up for the long break! Adventure time!

 

 

"Duck!" Severus grabs my arm and pulls me back right before a white flash of lightning crashes down where my feet were a second ago. Another curse almost hits us, and together we tumble backwards. Once outside the protective ring, the magic stops. But it lingers in the air over the shady hut like a vulture, watching, waiting.

I let out a deep breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Holy _shit_. I thought this would be easier."

"I'm getting too old for stuff like that," Severus breathes. "Remember Albania? There, these things were _fun_."

"Nah. There we fought against some slightly amused spiders. Here we have evil, foul, stinking magic. See the snake skull that is nailed at the door? Disgusting." I shudder. "Maybe we would need some real Felix Felicis for the task?"

"Don't look at me. It takes months to brew, and I also don't believe in it. It turns you into an air-headed, overly confident nitwit with the brain function of a flobberworm." With a side glance and smirk, he adds: "And I have no intention of turning into a Gryffindor."

"Hey!" I elbow him. "Remember who you talk to? We are not only jocks and adrenalin junkies. And, if you must know: The hat suggested Ravenclaw, too. But in the end it said academics is what I have and bravery is what I need."

"Are you aware that this is very personal information, poor Muggleborn?"

"What, too intimate, even after what we did last night? And this morning? Aw, my, are you _blushing_?"

"If you _ever_ -"

"Stop threatening me! And also stop using your teacher voice on me," I grumble, only half annoyed (the other half is kinda turned on. Oh holy cricket).

"Who is blushing now?!"

" _A-hem_."

"Oh, hello, Albus." Severus makes a big deal out of helping me up and plucking some grass out of my hair. It is even more a friendly in-your-face than when he Apparated away mid-conversation. I suppress a grin and lean against him as I smile to Albus, and feel him stand a little taller. Okay, now this should be clear.

"Have you come to help us out, sir? Since, actually, there seems to be quite a protection around this house."

"I am aware." He smiles and I feel Severus stiffen. "I had hoped that some connection to Salazar Slytherin might have provided an easier access."

"It does not. We have tried since early morning." I rub sweat from my forehead and probably place dirt there instead.

"Well, actually you were able to reach the hut at all, Severus, and Hermione - or should I say Felix, of course - which I am quite happy about. Your bold breaking through the hiding charms enabled me to get here in the first place."

"Did you only need us to pick the lock?" I am slightly annoyed by that. We are quite a capable team, if we can stop bickering for five minutes.

"Oh, I thought we do this as a trio. A kind of initiation into Order business, Hermione?" And my anger is blown away in the wind. Order business! Not even Harry has been invited yet. But maybe they only got a hole to fill?

I feel a hand on my shoulder. Reassuring. Steadying. "No, because of who you are," Severus whispers to me, and Albus is kind enough to act as if he didn't notice. I swallow and reach up to intervene our fingers.

"Actually, one more brain may be useful here. I have never seen a protection like that before," admits Severus. Now that Albus is here, neither of us seems sad to give up the lead of the operation to him. It was his idea after all. "It seems to be intelligent, like a perverted healing dome. Usually, protection systems fire once certain trigger points are activated, but this one seems to see us."

"Maybe it does see indeed," Dumbledore offers. "The little snake skull might have lent its eyes. Which means there must be gemstones inside of the skull. Did you see something glitter?"

"We were quite busy avoiding the curses, Albus. In case you didn't notice the craters, it were seventeen." He sounds so much like Ron in first year in this moment that I turn all red from trying not to laugh.

"We'll see. Hold this." I shake off my purse and hand it to Severus (it is quite heavy, and I am not so ultimate sure about my skills on my new hoverboard to deal with any swinging extra weight) and re-transfigure my little bead from my necklace. The surf-hoverboard floats in the air. Time for a practical test. "I will fly up, stay outside the protection dome, and try to make it glitter. Anyone got a mirror?" Immediately, Albus hands me a half-moon formed mirror with a golden frame. I don't look into it.

"I object. This is an unnecessary risk built solely on empty assumptions without any logical proof," Severus snaps.

"Take care, too," I say fondly and find great joy in the way he crosses his arms and stares at the hut, refusing to let me catch him following me with his eyes, but clutching my bag like a lifebelt. We're getting better at the whole display of affection thing, I guess.

Once in position, one of today's few rays of sunlight are caught in the mirror and reflected to the snake skull. A small reflections glitters back, and a load of angry flashes follow. I go up quick enough to not be hit, and from above it looks like worlds angriest blast-ended skrewt.

Carefully I hover behind the shields Albus and Severus have put up, and sink to the ground next to them.

"Told you so," he snaps.

"Albus was right, though. It glitters. So, what kind of gemstone do you think it is? I read in the History of Hogwarts that Gryffindor worked out several magic-strengthening aspects of jewels, and therefore put several into his sword. According to him, and later Merlin as well as Jeanne Baret, rubies are said to enhance protective spells and branches of blood magic, diamonds enhance healing, sapphires work best for transfigurations and permanent changes, and emerald for hiding and attacks. They were used for wands instead of wood once, but -"

"Thank you, _Miss Granger_ , that will be sufficient. There is no need to go full nerd," Severus interrupts.

"You. Call me. Nerd. For _real_?"

"Children, please." Dumbledore looks... unnerved? Ha! "Basing on the evidence of other heirlooms" angry glare to Severus "I would say it is a emerald, channelling a sentient Bombarda Curse."

Severus and I exchange glances. "A sentient Bombarda Curse," he says slowly. "Have you any idea how to turn it off?"

"Not the faintest," Albus admits happily. "This is why I wanted our Miss Granger on board. I had hoped she would slither through, or, as she prefers it, be smart first and brave later."

Severus raises an eyebrow at this and I feel myself blush. "You jumped into a pool of raging Acrumantula," he says softly, with the teacher voice that indicates upcoming detentions.

"And I placed a portkey outside of the net beforehand," I snap back. "And it went just fine, didn't it?"

"You also set a bunch of Dementors on fire."

"That works?" Albus asks with a curious twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes," says Severus, and at the same time I answer "No." Now Albus raises an eyebrow.

"Can we destroy the snake head?" I point at the door. "Maybe set it on fire, too?"

I realize that I have never really seen Albus in full action when half a dozen bright blue fire balls smash into the door out if thin air, and after it several flashes of lightning, and a rain of arm-long, blade-sharp, shining knitting needles. The spiked hut smokes accusingly but holds its stand. Albus shrugs. He hasn't even messed up the elegant drapery of his robe. "I'm afraid not."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I peer out from behind Severus, who somehow had managed to step in front of me.

All right. Smart first. Brave later. I go through what I know about gemstones again, and somehow my mind lingers on transfigurations. Changes. "Maybe," I say slowly, "if we can't destroy it we can change it. Only for a while, only for some moments, and one of us sneaks in, gets the thing, and gets out."

Albus nods thoughtfully. "That might work."

"We have to think this through carefully," I warn, somehow being reminded of Ron and Harry heavily as Albus and Severus now glance at each other. "We have to take into consideration how objects, especially magical objects, always long to return to their natural states, how much energy we can combine without it just exploding, we need to figure out the best goal form for the transformation, and the network of spells that is already here, and of course the unknown factors... when we start now with the Arithmancy and stick our heads all together to research the necessary formula, we can maybe work it out this week, maybe even tomorrow..."

I dig in my purse to find paper and pen, and when I finally find it and let the pen click, Albus says: "A wooden ruler would be sufficient as goal form, the magical energy of one of us in a long-term transfiguration spell would be strong enough to hold the door warden still but weak enough to cause a dome instability, and a constant safety bubble can be held up for six minutes and thirty-two seconds by another one of us, approximately. This is while three is quite a nice number for tasks like these."

Severus openly mocks me for the stupid face I pull.

"Did you just...?"

"My dear," Albus smiles "I _am_ Albus Dumbledore, after all."

"!" I say.

"Yes, I am sure."

"?" I say.

"Probably. But a lot can be done in six minutes and thirty-two seconds."

"When you are brilliant like this why the hell did you hire Lockheart?" I burst out.

"Oh, that's easy. There was no way on earth this man could be associated with Tom." He shrugs. "Now, team, pick your tasks, if you please."

A short and heated discussion emerges, in which I try to make them understand that I am neither trained in holding a long-term transfiguration, nor have I ever done a moving safety bubble, but that I am quick on my feet. My Patronus is a fox, after all.

But my arguments are knocked out by Severus, who downright refuses to let me go in there alone, and, to my disappointment, Albus, who insists that someone of a clear mind should watch over the whole operation. My question why he doesn't do it himself then is met with a giggle, and so I find myself holding my wand straight at the evil little skeleton at the door. A snake and a ruler are quite alike if you use the right mindset. I do my best to focus on Alice in Wonderland and the hedgehog Cricket game, and imagine a small snake happily stiffing itself to help a friendly wizard kid measure a sand castle tower. Magic that transfigures something this vile has to be _good_ , and pure, so I dig out a mental image of toddler Harry in his aunt's garden, safely hidden from his piggy cousin, playing with a small green garden snake.

And it seems to work. Next to me I feel Severus' steadfast bubble spell, and from the corner of my eyes I see him twirl and twirl his wand to hold onto the giant soap bubble around Albus. I count to three and renew the spell, _a snake plays a ruler for baby Harry messing in the garden_ , I breathe in and out and count to three and renew the spell, and feel the magic vibrate in the ground, but all I see is the nice garden Harry plays in, and the skeleton tries to fight me but the little snake in my mind that wants to help (Harry calls it _noodle_ ) is too strong, and it works, that mad plan really works, and then Severus yells "Albus - no!" and all hell breaks lose.

Curses crash down from all sides. The skeleton snaps out of the ruler form immediately, and green gems glitter like eyes in the empty holes in the skull, and green beams swirl over the place like lasers. I let go of my pathetic attempts to get it under control and jump to Severus, shielding him while he tries to hold up the bubble.

In the middle of crashing lightning and bursting heat, Albus slowly falls to his knees, clenching his own hand at the wrist. The ground we stand on shakes, and every curse is stronger than before.

"I must get him," Severus breathes, holding his wand with both hands, heels digging deep into the ground. "If we lose him all is lost!"

"I'll go! You protect me!"

And he doesn't object or fight this time, and neither of us gives in to fear or despair, because Albus is falling and this is not the time to fall apart.

I jump on my hoverboard. "I trust you! And I regret nothing!" I yell it against the fire wall that is now around the hut, as I cower on the board, pressed against it as flat as possible, and rush through the fire and curses, protected by speed and air stream and whatever Severus does to guard my back, and I am following the threat of magic that leads me to the bubble. I have no ward on my back to protect me against this, so the only thing I have is my trust in Severus. But I meant what I said.

I can see Albus again now, and I see him point his wand at his own hand. What he does now unleashes an avalanche of magic so huge that it could have ripped the world itself apart, and a scream emerges to the sky, uniting with the curses and turning the whole hut into a green column of twisted fire, hot, _so hot_ , and suddenly I see Severus freeze and stare at the figure of a red-haired girl disappearing in the fire -

\- everything slows down in between two heartbeats as the scenes overlap. My back is bare and I am alone in the fire, did not reach Albus, cannot go back, and my back is bare, and Severus is frozen -

_This is an illusion. You can impossibly see what Severus does behind you, and what he sees from his perspective, and what Albus does in front of you, and yourself at the same time. Human vision does not work like that. This is an illusion. A trick._

She is right. I am right.

\- the world catches itself and goes back to normal speed and danger, and my instincts take over. I let myself fall like a hawk in mid-air, and grab Albus by the collar, and let the wave of magical energy blow us out of the emerging explosion. It is sheer dumb luck, or maybe his spells, that pull us in Severus' direction. He holds out his hand and I grab it with my free hand, we hold onto each other's wrists, I'm steering the board only with my knees, as hot power rips us away. I feel something inside of me _rip_ , too - it is too _heavy_ , two of them, I am not _strong_ enough - but I refuse to let go, I refuse, I refuse...

When we crash into something that may be the tree line, all turns blurry. I am only half aware that the iron grip of my fingers on a collar and a wrist is broken up gently, and that something bitter is forced down my throat that makes the pain smaller. I hear a silky voice curse with words I have never even dreamed of using, and then I am held tight against something black and soft, and the familiar pull of Apparition brings me away from the smell of smoke and burned meat (meat? I am sick...)

I see a blurry blue sky above me and smell freshly mowed grass and something smoky, foresty, and I know that I like these smells. They are important, for some reason.

There is a plopp next to me, and a tiny voice squeaks: "Uh Master Nose! Why do you always turn up like this! You make Filly go all fuzzy in the stomach. Filly will take care of Miss Guardian now. Gimme!"

I lose the smells of forest and that smoky tobacco tone, and the soft black, too, as tiny hands and strong magic hold me. "Don't worry, Miss, we go to see Madam now."

The next I know is the smell of _white_ , white sheets and white curtains and a wooden floor scrubbed white, too, and a black pointy hat in my vision. A harsh voice says: "You got to work with me here, girl, this is evil. Imagine the waves going out."

I stand in a white hall with white columns and beautiful banners that move gently in a fresh wind. Empty chairs around an empty round table. I know there should be a river outside, but it is a grey ocean under grey skies coming through the open floor, the water is touching my feet and trying to take me away, and a boat shakes in the waves. The waves get stronger each time I focus on them. Someone screams somewhere, but I cannot help them. The sea won't let me go.

An old witch in black clothes, heavy boots and a pointy black hat appears next to me. "The waves come and go, come and go, come and go," she orders, and I follow her, pushing and pulling the waves with gestures, focused on keeping the boat atop. This, too, seems important.

The screams in the distance disappear (they were my own, probably, outside of this castle) and so does the witch, and the waves finally turn silent and the scene sets itself right. I turn away from the calm river outside and look around in the room. The columns are only curtains.

I blink. Next to my bed sits a pale, worn Poppy Pomfrey on one of the uncomfortable wooden hospital chairs.

"Are the chairs so hard because people expect them to be?" I croak before I fall asleep.

 


	29. that jar, while each polemic jackanapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and some of the following, will quote both the movies and the books. Anything that sounds like it is from there probably is, and I have no rights on it whatsoever, apart from borrowing it to play, and then gently put it back. All hail Queen JK.

 

 

"You almost ripped yourself in half, Hermione. That was extremely stupid. "

"Mhm." I fight to open my eyes. "You fine? An' Albus?" Dreams of a war zone and green lights, fired at me and my friends by Death Eaters, overlap the recent memories.

"We will live. And you will live, in case you should care for that. Why didn't you just leave us? Or one of us?"

We were running, and firing, Ron was holding my hand, and Professor Trelawney was shouting. No, wrong. I was flying through a firestorm. And Severus just asked me something. Why didn't I let go?

"Didn't even cross my mind," I mumble sleepily. "All I thought was I refuse to let go, an' didn't."

"Ah, well. About that."

I am wide awake immediately. His tone is a double espresso, injected intravenous. "You are not breaking up with me, Severus Snape, at my bedside! We've only been together for what, two days? Three?"

"And look where it brought you. I am pulling you down. Literally. You are ripped in two between me and Albus. Literally."

"And I will literally punch you in the face if you don't stop. I refuse to let go, if you still want me."

He looks so shocked that I feel sorry for him. "If I..."

"Yes. Look where it brought you." Carefully, I touch his jawline, avoiding the freshly healed burn wounds. "It seems that whenever we are together everything explodes. And summer is only half over."

He puts his hand over mine to keep it at his face. "Have you heard what people say about potion mastery applicants? One half comes for drugs and the other half comes for explosions. I'm fine with that."

I grin, but my grin freezes at his next words: "We need to talk about summer. Will you spent the rest of it with your friends, now that the task is done?"

I sigh. "Sometimes I really wish I still had that Time-Turner."

He looks so serious. "Hermione. Spent the time with your friends. Promise me, if you have a chance at happiness without me, take it."

I throw him the best are-you-serious-glare I can manage. Seems I have to spell it out for him. "Of course. I am my own person first, and then I am whatever I am to you. I have happiness without you. But you need to get in your stubborn head that I prefer to be happy _with_ you."

"Pathetic Gryffindor."

"Deal with it."

"I will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

We smile at each other shyly. I wonder if there will ever be a time when we'll just be sure of everything. I free my hand gently to pull my bandages to a more comfortable position. "Don't be overdramatic about it. I don't need you to save me. I may want it, occasionally. For the rest I am fine saving myself. And you. What's the score now?" I stick out my tongue for a moment to get the heaviness out of this conversation. It is ridiculous anyway.

He shrugs. "I'm not keeping score. _I_ am not the jock."

"Me neither. I am the nerd, remember?"

He grins. "What you said before you rushed into the firewall -"

"You don't need to answer. It was a spur of the moment thing, in case it its the only chance. I -"

"Me, too. For a long time now." I have never been this happy to be interrupted. Trust. We trust each other. It feels like a small sun in my chest.

He does not leave my bedside when Poppy comes, and he does not let go of my hand. "Oh, did you idiots finally manage to talk to each other? Sweet Merlin, I was began' thinking I'll have to lock you two in a broom cabinet myself." She keeps muttering about the 'stupidest smart people she knows' as she runs around my bed, builds a healing dome, stares at the knot points of the magical net as if they were radiographs, performs several wand scans, and finally lines up a small army of potion bottles on the nightstand.

"Don't explode these again, sweetheart, or I will have to order your cavalier here to move his charming backside to the dungeons and make you new ones. If you can keep them all down you're free to go. But no activities for the next few days. I mean it." I smile at her. It is good to have an ally. She wanders away, shaking her head. I am quite sure to hear her murmur “Idiots” like an enchantment.

"I can't offer you to take you home with me," Severus answers my unsaid question, "they placed Wormtail at my house, which wouldn't be a sufficient place for you without that. Now he is sneaking around, and though not the brightest, even he would notice you."

"I will stay here and help Poppy stock up, before I'm invited to the burrow. I've been sulking in the forest long enough. We can meet in Narnia. Ahem. Now that we are sure we don't break up" (I add another glance) "what exactly happened?"

And this is how I find out that Albus got hit by one of the strongest known curses in history, and that Severus was able to bind it in his hand, and that he has about a year left. And that, yes, they did debate to chop it off. The curse would wander. I cry in his robes, and he holds me, and somehow we always end up in the hospital wing, holding onto each other as if life was a river with the sole purpose to drift us apart.

I am glad I decided to stay with Poppy. She leaves no room for overthinking and fear. Sleeves up, attitude down, get the work done. In a different way from Severus, she also needs people around to be independent from, and even though she acts as if I'm a burden more often than not, she smiles at me and places mugs of tea next to me and sometimes gives me a court nod.

I know enough of everything to rent a hand here and there, sometimes I make potions, sometimes I prepare herbs, and out of a feeling of possible necessarity I help her to re-arrange the infirmary beds to fit more patients in, without cutting her walking routes and with leaving some personal space for the kids. I may never be empathic enough, or sympathetic enough, to be a healer, but I am quite an organizer. After the stockings are done and the changes are made, we sit on one of the beds and drink thin hospital coffee in comfortable silence.

"I case death takes me," she says out of nowhere, "and you're still here, you grab yourself the Longbottom kid, and Lovegood, and that Slytherin fourth year, wozzhername, Greenleave or Greengrass, and you run this wing. Dark times-a coming, girl. And them sympathetic kids need someone with a cold, hard brain in charge while they fuzz."

I play with the sleeve of the long, soft robe I transfigured the green hoodie to. It matches the teacher's robes, but is way simpler, Hogwarts and Witch and very _Hermione._ I smile at my sleeve. A cold, hard brain is a compliment when it comes from her. Maybe she is the only person I have ever met who considers this as a positive character trait in a woman. For the rest of the world, women have to be soft. Warming, motherly, connecting, maybe sporty but then only as team players, social, doing the emotional labour. I fall through the raster here, I know.

Filly appears with a soft plopp in front of us. "Miss Guardian. Madam." She fixes me with her huge, watery eyes. "Master Nose needs you."

Immediately, Poppy grabs her healer bag, but the elf shakes her head. "Only Miss Guardian, please. He is... not wounded. He needs you at the Headmasters office."

For a wild moment, an image of something _inappropriate_ while Albus isn't there appears in front of my inner eye. I shake it away immediately.

 _Pathetic, H, really._ I know, right?

"Not wounded doesn't mean fine," Poppy snaps. The elf shakes her head. "Nothing Madam can do. Miss, maybe. Take Filly's hand!"

House elf Apparition inside of Hogwarts feels weird. It is the first time I experience it consciously. Normal Apparition is like being pulled through a tight gummy tube, this feels as if all my atoms are taken apart and I am set together anew in front of Albus' door.

"Thanks, Filly." The elf smiles at me and plopps away. I knock and enter as I hear Dumbledore asking me to do so.

It is late evening, and the shadows are long. Albus sits in his chair by the fire (he is always cold now), chin in his hand, and Severus stands on the other side, leaning against the board over the fireplace. On a small wooden table between them sits a silver tablet with fresh dark bread, butter, wine and three glasses. Again, the scene looks as if it fell out of time.

_Napoleonic._

Smartass.

_You must talk._

I hush my inner voice but she is right. It looks like a general and his officer planning the next move, and there is a faint feeling of tents and horses, cannons and a revolution that is eating it's children. Maybe we've all been here before. Maybe history will repeat itself until the very end of time, a king, his spy, his lionheart.

Severus looks pale, and worn, a hero after Peripeteia, realizing that the moment has come and gone and now every way can only lead to downfall. I linger in the doorway, as if refusing to step closer can keep away whatever is luring over the tea table. For a second I touch the Seeing Ward on my neck. Dumbledore's bright, shining magic is now stained with a cruel, green cancer, eating him from the inside. It hurts to look at him. Severus' - well, let's call it aura in absence of a better word - is a calm, steady flow around him, twirling with strains of grey and a lighter blue. Patronus, I think, and regret that I never had a mentor to show me how to understand the swirls and turns and colours I see, and never had the time to work it out for myself.

We lock eyes, and I see the micro movement of his hand striving in my direction, suppressed immediately. I step closer to them, but I do not cross the imaginary line the table built between us.

"Hermione," Albus says without looking up. I hold my own hand behind my back. Somehow I know that this is the time where I need to be strong for myself.

"The situation has... well, increased it's interestingness. You are aware of my curse, I believe? Well. Now, today, our Severus has been talked into taking an Unbreakable Vow." I press my fingernails into my palms, and nod.

"He has sworn to Narcissa Malfoy that he will help her son, his Goodson, to kill me, in order to fulfil Tom's wishes."

"Stupid boy," I hear Whisper say, "I told him to run." Unasked, my brain delivers every information I ever read concerning Unbreakable Vows, consequences of breaking these vows, and possibilities.

"The exact wording?" I ask.

Now, Albus looks at me directly. "Do you need a moment, my dear?"

"I don't need a moment. We need a plan," Felix hisses. "And a damn good one, too."

And for the first time since I came here there is a hint of emotion in Severus' face, a glimmer of hope. I get all my inner voices together and manage a smile. "We do this together, we do this smart," Hermione, finally, announces. I sit down, and so does Severus. "The wording, now, please. Maybe there is a loophole."

Severus speaks the words clearly and slowly, like a performer on a stage does his last monologue: "Will you, Severus Snape, watch over Draco Malfoy, as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord’s wishes? And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm? And, if Draco should fail, will you yourself carry out the deed the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

We go through it and then we go through it again. Narcissa Black Malfoy is _good_. But we have to be better. We twist and turn the words, plug them apart and put them back together until it's far past midnight.

"Maybe," Albus sighs, "we should be open for a new form of thinking."

"No," Severus and I say immediately, together, determinedly.

"Children, please. If we assume -"

"If you say it, Albus, if it is spoken out loud, it is open for discussion," Severus interrupts with a passion I haven't seen often. "Think about it beforehand. If you really want that."

Albus smiles. "My dear boy. I am afraid that I have passed the point where my own destiny is not open for discussion many, many years ago. I have probably forfeit any right to not put it up as a possibility. No, don't. I am honoured by your concern, my friends. But let us discuss it. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.”

Severus raises his eyebrows, and his tone is sardonic. He doesn't want to go this way, just like me. “Are you intending to let him kill you?”

“Certainly not. You must kill me.”

And there it stands. Cold and hard. Maybe I possess less of these than I thought, because now the tears come, and I fight hard to press them back down. Severus steps next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I feel reassured, and get it together. “Would you like me to do it now?” he asks, his voice heavy with irony. “Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”

“Oh, not quite yet,” answers Dumbledore, smiling. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened here,” he indicates his withered hand,“we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”

“If you don’t mind dying,” Severus says roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”

“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” Albus answers. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

“And his soul, Albus? What about Severus?” I know that that I am wailing and could not care less. This is not the time and place to keep up appearances.

Albus smiles. “Severus, you alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation. I ask this one great favour of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved. Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”

Severus and I exchange glances. Albus is right. We need to discuss it, and we need to be smart about it. So we settle down again, we eat and drink, and we talk.

Our first plan is desperate. Our second plan is madness. Our third plan is worse. When the sun comes up, we decide to continue the upcoming night.

"Well," Severus buries his face in his hands, "if we really go through with that, at least I can finally stop with that embarrassing charade of a teacher I am mimicking."

"My dear boy, don't talk yourself down. The amount of lethal potion accidents has gone to zero since you took over, and the amount of Potion Masters and Mistresses with Hogwarts origins has tripled."

"Great. Now you hold me accountable for the drastic decrease in quality for a whole profession?"

Albus and I laugh, and exchange glances over the table. Please don't, I beg with my eyes. Please be with me, he begs with his. There is no way out. I give him the smallest nod in the history of promises. Of course I will. He is Albus Dumbledore. I am the lionheart.

"We should get some sleep," I say. If I stay any longer, and look at the broken yet most powerful wizard of our time any longer, I'll probably promise to polyjuce Severus and do it myself.

Usually, we are not the hand-holding types, but as Severus and me slip out of the office in the silent hour between sunrise and breakfast, we hold on tight. We go to Narnia without needing to talk it over. Once there, I open mum's beaded purse I carry everywhere, and let the camp out. After the year in the forest it knows what to do. All objects become a little sentient when exposed to magic for too long. That's why we avoid tech. It is really annoying, having to talk back to your VCR constantly when it doesn't agree with your taste in movies.

The tent moves up, and the books find their place, the oil lamps take the head of the piles, the mattress sinks down, and pillows and blankets and even a lamb fur sit in their corner in no time. A secret working room turns into a secret hideaway for the night.

It has been a week since we were together like this for the first time in our actual time and space, hasty and clumsy and unsure, and more confident and exploring again in the morning. Since then the whole world and our outlook to the future has changed completely, but what was in question before is now the steady ground we built on. This time, there is no need for spoken consent, I see it in his eyes and he sees it in mine, and our minds are open and whisper of longing and unity and safety in each others arms. He takes my hand and carefully pulls me to him, he caresses my cheek, my lips, with his long white fingers. He gently pushes strands of hair out of my face, he trails the curls down to my shoulders, traces my collarbones. I hold him close to me, arms around his slender hips, and let my own fingers wander up his sides, rest my hands on his shoulders, that are never hunched now, but straight and strong, and he seems so strong now, so settled, so steady. I trace the long line of buttons on his frock coat, an armour of the softest black fabric.

The time for doubts is past, the world changes, and any stolen moment is precious. We kiss gently first, lips find lips, and he holds me close and wraps me in his cloak, a castle of black silk around me, where I am safe and sound and whole. We undress ourselves and each other, calmly, gently, knowing, as if we have done it for a hundred times and were sure of even more times to come. I know that he is unsure about his body, still, but the light of first sunlight under water and through glass, and warm yellow oil lamps in the back turn everything from reality to fantasy, from Hogwarts to Camelot, and there will be no grieve in my kingdom as long as I rule it.

I move to the mattress, and he follows me, and I hold onto his shoulders and sling my legs around his hips, and I dig my fingers in his raven hair, and pull him even closer, kiss his neck, his earlobe, and whisper the things that cannot be said in broad daylight, that I long for him, that his skin is marble and his eyes are velvet, that his shoulders carry the sky, and his voice makes me shiver, and that I used to lay awake at night, imagining exactly this, imagining him longing to touch me, too.

His thumbs circle my breasts, and he holds my hips and we turn around, so that my new scar doesn't hurt and that I feel free, on top of my whole world right now, bedded in his arms, my hair is in his face, I want to wipe it away but he whispers to me to leave it, and I leave it. We move in perfect synchronization, more aware than ever before, and for a moment I think of the Occlumency routine, right in this room, and that I had troubles focusing at first, because he only wore pants and a shirt, no frock coat and robes, and was basically naked like that, and I used to stare at the muscle work of his arms and shoulders instead of clearing my mind.

There are no barriers between us, and he catches my thought, and laughs a little amused, and I move my hip in that special way that turns his laugh to a moan. There are many ways to perform wandless magic. "So it is true," he breathes into my ear, with that silk voice that never fails its effect.

"You're doubting _while_ we do this?" I stop moving for a moment, and lean on his chest, and turn his face to me to look in his eyes, while I feel him pulsing inside me. He has is eyes closed, and I whisper "Look at me," and he does so, reluctantly, carefully, as if I was a vision that would fade.

"I am here. I am real. I won't let go." He doesn't answer, only holds me closer, pulls me down to him, and I kiss him, and we hold eye contact until the shared bliss forces us to close them again. I see magic twirl without a ward.

Later, when I lay on my belly, stretched out next to him, he traces the tattoos down my spine. "And they really work?"

"Time sand. From my accidents. Discovered it with sheer dumb luck." It is not easy to focus on talking. Even though my body is more than satisfied, I am wide awake, and there are months, no, years actually to keep up to.

"What do they do?"

"The first one lets me see magic, as I showed you on the tower, and also disables hiding spells. Only in Hogwarts, actually. Outside I can see them. Looks like heat on a road, kind of. Second is Hiding, for Disillusionment but also change of appearance, third is Balance, fourth is higher alerted senses. Five is better memory. Six and seven are at my ankles, strong and steady stand."

"Isn't that cheating, Gryffindor?" He traces Seeing with his lips, and I gasp.

"They only enhance what is already there. I could paint _Music_ all over my body with a sharpie and still wouldn't be able to clap along a simple two-four rhythm." It is true. My talent for music goes to nothing. The little piano I know is from memory alone.

"I saw you dance." He leaves out Hiding and Balance and goes directly to Alert. Smart man. Always keen on concepts.

"Viktor was... leading."

"Never thought you of one to enjoy having someone lead."

"That's... how dancing works... isn't it," I tease, and give up the lead once more, and don't regret that either. When the sun rises to it's peak, we find each other rearranged (and, well, quite deranged), so that I am draped lazily over his back now. Another level of trust here, considering all the scars. With doctors as parents who met volunteering in the harder neighbourhoods of big cities, and Poppys darker books, I cannot avoid to recognize some of them. Belt mark. Cigarette. Broken rib. Cutting curse. Burning curse. I move closer and put my arms around him. Whoever will try this in the future has to pass me, first.

"If it wouldn't endanger you to no end, I wouldn't mind going public," I say. And if it is just to show everyone who they will face when they harm him. Five-fifty feet of curly rage from above.

"And that would be remarkably stupid of you."

"Well, thanks."

"Not... ah. Don't make it hard now."

I let that sentence linger, and once he realizes it I whisper "Sure not?" and get a small laugh that is way more used to being heard by now. But the topic is not done with that. "If we had met after school nobody would bloody care," I grumble.

"But we haven't, people will care, I will hold you back, I mistreated you as a student, and people will say I am using you. Also they will question your academic success when you were screwing a teacher."

There is a tingle in my mind that tells me that this used to be my ultimate fear. Wow. That was so, so long ago, that I wonder if I have been that person at all.

_Be honest, H, at least to yourself._

"Okay, that would bother me. But they will stop question me once they get to know me. When all of this is over we will probably be heroes, and in the short time before people become their usual ungrateful selves again we can get away with a lot. Maybe, if we're smart about it. We need a plan."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that you, _you,_ don't have a plan already?"

I pull a face at that and now he really is amused. "So you do have a plan for the zombie apocalypse, mapped out down to the means of transportation, but you don't have a plan for a socially unacceptable wedding?"

Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding? What... was that... did he... ?!

 _Attack as defense, quick!_ "How do you know about the zombie thing? Did you read my diary or something?" I snap half-heartedly. Considering our current position, it won't become a real fight anyway.

"Saw it in your mind during my werewolf-lesson in your third year. You used it as an escape to not try and hex me to the following Thursday, I think. Quite detailed, very amusing, but the assumptions about who to feed the zombies for a distraction were a little bit worrying."

I have to grin. Yeah, that one was fun. "Not cool, picking in my brain like that." I don't really care, though.

"Your images were... leaking out, basically. Usually I avoid looking. Too much drama. And worryingly weird things. Believe me, you don't want to know."

I try to not think about hundreds of horny teenagers daydreaming in class. It is probably pretty disturbing.

"I still would want to risk it."

"Zombies?"

"Idiot. Us."

"I don't want you to risk it. You deserve more."

"Don't I deserve to get what I want?"

"Playing dirty now, Gryffindor? You're twenty. You don't know what you want."

I blow out air and try to get rid of the curls in my face. They fall right back. "I'm twenty-one. And damn smart, in case you missed that."

"Then, enlighten me, oh brightest witch her age."

I snort. The airblow gets his neck and he shivers a little. Ha. Serves him right. "I want the war to be over, with us alive and as winners, and as much as I love Hogwarts I want us to get away for a very, very long holiday, and do some reckless crazy stuff just for shit and giggles. Acrumantula silk hunting in Australia or something. And then I want to come back and kick that Ministry in the butt until they come to their senses, as an action-hardened super spy power couple. Maybe I want helicopters, and fake mustaches. Free the house elvs. Tutor muggleborns. Make education free. "

"Helicopters?"

" _That's_ the part that worries you?"

"All of this worries me. Hermione, this here, as much as we clearly enjoy it, has no future."

I look down on him. Carefully, because suddenly it feels too intimate (yes, even after what we just did) I brush the curtain of hair from his face. "You said I was your beginning..."

"And if we keep going I will likely be your end, now, with... everything." And suddenly the war has come to our hideout. "No. I do not believe that I have a future after the war, Hermione." It is a confession as much as a plea, eyes pressed close to keep out whatever he is afraid to see.

"Then leave the future to me. Believe in me. Believe in us. We are the smartest people we know. We will work it out, we will work it all out."

He nods in the darkness, and the weight of our future falls on my shoulders. But I will carry it gladly, and hope for us both, if I have to. We will find a way. We have to, and we will.

 


	30. joins his enemies' recruits

 

"What are you working at?" I peek over his shoulder.

"You can impossibly be bored with your current workload, Hermione. It's your sixth year. It is supposed to be difficult."

I shrug. "Predictable. Boring. And our other problem is frustrating. _Please_?"

He sighs. "If you must know, these are calculations for memory changes."

"Inspired by Sluggy?"

"Indeed."

"Seen it?"

"No. You neither? Thought so. But the mere idea of tempered memories is... fascinating."

I nod. It is late night, and once again I can't sleep. He hands me his calculations and basic spellwork, and I lean against the glass wall, reading. But I can't find any mistakes.

"It should work."

"Yes it should."

"Why doesn't it?"

"Sadly, I have no idea." And that is the baseline of our work right now. No matter in which direction we run, we always meet a wall. But I am kind of glad that the school work load moves from overwhelming to extreme early in the year, and that everyone loses their shit over the assignments. Because, even for me, the side studying I put up with would rise suspicion. But with the seventh year lurking in the distance, it is enough to snap "background research" at anyone daring to even question the piles and piles of books that rise around me, while I go through more material about warfare and psychology, Unforgivable Curses and Dark Objects.

In a moment of desperation, I ask Poppy theoretical questions about skin blackening curses, and she snaps at me that she did indeed see Albus' hand, thank you very much, and that this is four sizes too big for me, and I better keep out of it. I give her the are-you-serious-glare, and she sighs and shares what she knows. To my shock, it isn't more than I found out myself.

Apart from all our problems, our relationship has fallen into place as easy as our friendship had. We know each other. We know ourselves. And since we both are not the spur of the moment kind of people that ruin everything within seconds of thoughtless emotional outbursts (we both learned that the hard way), we are doing good. At least when we are alone.

Severus runs DADA right now, and does his best to be his unbearable persona self during class, and late at night he does his best to make up for it. He tells me that my hurt and disappointed face hounds him. I tell him that his downright asshole facade hounds me. We sit in silence, dismayed, and wonder if the masks we wear and games we play for the sake of the Greater Good go too far.

"What if I can't stop with that? What will you do? I probably traumatized generations by now that will come knocking at my door with hay forks and torches, once the real thing is over and the dunderheads get bored again."

At least, the what-if touches the possibility of a future after the war. I sip my steaming tea and watch the beams of Sunday morning light in the water. The castle, smart as it his, has moved the passage to Narnia to his new office now, and the shelf in the dungeons is just a shelf. The castle likes him, too.

"Do you intend to stay a teacher?"

"Hell, no. I am not good at it, and I it doesn't fulfill me either."

I shrug. "Then, I don't see a problem. Research, maybe? I guess smart, confident adults can put up with you."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, _I_ can."

"You are..."

"If you say _you are not like other girls,_ I'm going to punch you, Severus Snape," I warn.

He grins. "I meant to say, you are probably biased."

Now I grin back. "I liked discussing with you before I like-liked you, okay? You are sharp, but our results are never anything but perfect. And once you're with people as quick as you, you may even have _fun_."

Lip quirk. "Fun?"

"Yeah. Fun. You know, that thing when you wake up in the morning and _want_ to be awake, because you _enjoy_ life."

"Like when I wake up next to you?"

The mothra creature in my stomach high-fives all my inner voices and then does a happy jig. "Cute," I manage. "Um, remember how much you like me when I say the next thing, okay?"

"I can hardly forget that when you blush to your hair roots while trying to sound serene. Bring it on, then."

Damn it, face, rude! I thought we were in this together?

"Harry has your old potion notes. This is while he scores in class right now. He's the only one who has your instructions, the ones you used to write on the blackboard, and not the crappy book."

"And it bugs you that you aren't top any more?"

"It bugs me that... as I said, remember you like me... it bugs me to think about what else he'll find in there. As strange as that sounds, he likes the _Prince._ He thinks of him as a funny bloke who knows how to work the system, and he trusts him."

"He trusts some handwriting in a book? After your second year disaster with that part of Tom Riddle in a diary? What a nitwit."

I lose grip on my mug. Severus has it frozen in the air with his wand in under a second before the hot liquid can burn my legs.

"Say that again."

"Nitwit?"

"The other part."

He carefully waves the mug back into my hands. When I touch the hot ceramic I notice how cold they have become. I put it away.

"I think it was: He trusts handwriting in a book? After your second year disaster with that part of Tom Riddles in a diary?"

"That _part_ of Tom Riddle. Not a memory. Not a copy or something. A _part._ Severus, he has a horcrux. More than one. The diary was one and the ring was one, too. That's why we can't heal the curse. That's how he came back. That's the memory Harry had to get. Sglughorn somehow told his student Tom Riddle about it and now he has tempered with it because he is ashamed, he blames himself. And... and that boy, Tom Riddle, made some. Flight of death. Le _vol de_ la _mort_."

Severus gets up from his leather chair to stand in front of the window, and clenches his left wrist with his right hand behind his back. "Bloody bastard."

"Now the only question is, does he have three or seven?"

Severus turns around to me, once again the tall, dangerous, dark warrior from the forest, with something burning so bright in his eyes that I am scared he will burn out long before his time.

"And Albus will teach Potter about it. He will set the boy up as a hunter."

"Because only he can do it, because Riddle chose him for the prophecy."

"Neither can live while the other survives."

"That's why Albus showed Harry Tom's childhood in the pensieve. Harry said Tom collected tokens as a boy. He doesn't know yet.. He'll probably be sworn to secrecy the next meeting. That's why Albus considers dying as an option. To buy Harry time."

Suddenly, another realization kicks me in the stomach. "Severus, you _must not know this._   Any of this. Why did Albus even let you get the ring? When... when _he_ sees that..."

He breathes out, gruff. "Everything concerning you and our little adventures is hidden behind the wall whenever I am summoned. Do you think I would endanger you like this?"

Suddenly I am short of air. "The wall. You mean the wall we researched together? The wall we put up in my parents' minds before we sent them to Australia? Where we needed to take turns and breaks and almost broke down after because it was _that difficult_?"

He shrugs. He nods. "That would be the wall."

I don't know what to say. So I say a lot. "You do the spell yourself? On yourself? Do you even realize how dangerous that is? You can constantly damage your own brain if you make a mistake! A-and then you sit here and drink tea and tell me you trust me and then you do that to yourself without even thinking of asking me to help you? You complete arse Severus Snape!" I shoot forwards, not knowing if I am to punch him or kiss him, but he catches me mid-motion, and holds me. I yell a bit more, and struggle, and hit his chest a few times, and when the tears come he holds me closer, and kisses me on the head.

"I love you too, you know?" He murmurs, but so quiet that I am not really sure I heard it at all. "And it is safe. I occluded normally the first time round, and it went well enough. I cannot ask you to help me each time, because he could maybe see your magical trace when you're in my mind too often. Luckily enough, it doesn't grow whenever you're _on_ my mind."

I punch him again, but without meaning it this time. "I'm mad at myself because I never thought about this. And I tend to think through everything, usually, twice. And..."

"And it was all very exciting up to know. You are only human, Hermione, just as me and Albus. We only need to remind each other of that from time to time."

"Wise words." I go back to my tea, because I need to collect myself if I don't want to end up a teary, sobbing mess again.

"And concerning Potter, let him have the book. I think he'll need all the help he can get now. Horace taught Riddle, too. Maybe that's the whole reason Albus brought that sad excuse of a teacher back, so he can have him collect the Boy-who-lived for his dumb little club, and get some information. I think that your Potter is smart enough to not try out random spells someone scribbled down somewhere?"

"I sure hope so."

"And you will keep an eye on him?"

"You mean, be my insufferable know-it-all self about it?"

"Exactly."

We share a smile and both go back to our more relaxed positions from before. The hardest thing in this war is the waiting. The part where you feel the need to act pressing you so hard you cannot breathe, and yet sit and wait in calmness, instead of rushing out for hopeless heroics. Now is the time to wait and plan, because there is nothing we can do.

I do my best to ground myself in the now, take deep breaths, count the candles in the room, feel the leather chair under my fingertips. Just as McGonagall conjures the hard wooden chairs and Albus has the red chinz monstrosities, Severus' preferred magical sitting devices are vintage brown leather armchairs, huge, somewhat strict-looking but surprisingly comfy. Somehow that awakes my curiosity. Strange that I never wanted to try it before.

"What's the chair spell?"

"Sedens commode. Wand movement is _Raido_ , crossed from left to right."

"Ha. Funny. So basically sitting is not-traveling."

I try it a few times without the spell untill the movement is fluent. "Sedens commode."

I get an armchair, too, but the legs and arms are made of a dark cherry wood. The cushions are chestnut brown leather.

"Nice."

"Suits you."

"That's the intention, hm?" I change chairs. Comfy and at the same time stable. It smells like leather and wood. The arms are polished, and smooth, and you can still see their wood structure. I cross my legs under me. It has the perfect leg-crossing width. Magic, even with all the terrible events it caused lately, never ceases to amaze me.

"Does Potter really think the prince is a funny bloke?"

"Yeah. You know, if you had given him anything, he would have looked up to you as he does to Remus, or Sirius." I know that now. Having grown up with a loving father and grandfather, I never really understood what Harry was looking for so desperately, not until my research summer rubbed it under my nose.

"If I had given him anything but hell, and the Dark Lord had seen it last year when he was invading the boys' mind, I would have been given a quite shortened timeline, in which I would have regretted that terribly."

I bite my lip. Of course he is right. "I though wizards don't believe in hell," I murmur because I don't want to lose my voice over my own thoughtlessness.

"No need to believe in something you know exists," he answers calmly.

I think of the black, moaning lump I once found right here in this room. It had been June and I hadn't been prepared. I hope I am now. "Like the Unforgivables. Severus, did our wall work on Neville's parents? Could the healers hide their memories of that night and reset their minds?"

"No. We tried for days, but sometimes... There is no turning back. Not even Albus and our spell could help them. Also, you were not supposed to figure out what the wall was for."

"I'm awfully smart, you know?" I smile sadly.

"I know. This is why," he says softly, "it is one thing to hide you, since I can be sure that your mind is as much a fortress as is mine. But Potter's? He's is not even emotional anymore, he is a walking emotion. And right now that emotion is Savior Complex."

"He has a saving thing," I admit. "He would try and save you even now, even more so if he knew you are important to me. If he found you in a fitting situation, I mean. Which we have at hand, by the way. He is already suspicious about Malfoy."

"Before we think about involving Potter, I would prefer to come back to that plan where we kidnap lab monkeys, train them as snipers and make them take out all the Death Eaters one after the other."

"Why did we discard that one again?"

"Morals. Yours."

"Pity. But I get it. Absolutely no Harry in our problems. He has enough of his own already anyway. Still, it is such a waste. He has so much fun with potions right now. And he enjoys learning from you. As long as he doesn't know it's you."

Severus shrugs. "That's the price to pay for my exclusive position as a spy; not being surrounded by even more puppy-eyed nobrainers who beg me to teach them something, please. Oh, the agony."

I grin, but I feel lost. "Horcruxes. Wow. I wonder..." I bite my lip. It starts to hurt.

"Don't do that. Don't start and than leave it hanging. It gets on my nerves."

I pull a face. "Do you really want to play the what-if game now?"

"Tell me."

"Okay." I swallow. I have never really talked about these what-it's before. "Imagine one of us knew back then, in Albania. And imagine we would have communicated well and not fucked it up."

He chuckles, and I go on: "Instead of trying to find him in whatever form he was, we would have hunted the Horcruxes ourselves. Not the way I will have to do it now in that horrible emergency plan for next year, carefully, always looking out for him in every shadow..."

"And without the dunderheads to take care of," he says what I can't say.

"I love these boys, okay? But... Yes. With you. And without the... limitations of the White Side."

He grins into his tea. "Uh-oh. Gryffindors pit-bull without a leash? Remember how we were back then? Reckless. Crazy. We wouldn't have lasted a week... or have blasted our way through it. Like in the muggle action movies, blowing up everything, sleeping in motels, eating Chinese takeout right from the boxes, and saying stupidly pathetic things like 'the trace gets cold'." He rolls his eyes.

“I love you.” It comes out instead of the smart cool thing I wanted to say. But it is true. I have never loved him more than right now. A detailed, dreamish what-if, featuring us as some X-Files couple.

"Don't do that to yourself.” The last time he said that I laughed. This time I don't. I just look at him until he looks away. I'm getting good at that, stretching the silence until even he feels the need to fill it.

"We don't have a future, Hermione.”

"We've had that discussion, we have a now, and remember, when I tell you something that is important to me...”

He sighs. “I fucking believe it. But it will only end with pain, and I don't want you in pain. Just, promise me that you won't linger. When it has happened, go on. Move on. That ginger seems lively and carefree and happy enough. He'll be good for you. Go to him."

" _If_ it happens,” I snap. “Not when. This isn't set in stone. Nothing is until it has happened and even then it's not. We aren't some star-crossed nonsense, and I will ignore you once again deciding what's good for me, but only this time. And for the record, Severus, this isn't over 'till it is.” He has gotten up, and towers over my chair, and I do my best to look angry and fierce enough.

He gives me a moment to breathe. “Done?” He asks kindly.

"Mhm.” And only then when he is sure that I won't interpret it as shutting me up, he kisses me. Gently, soft, and without it leading to more. A kiss like a promise, a kiss that means an understanding: This isn't over 'till it is. He believes me. “And I love you, Hermione Jane Whisper Felix Granger.”

We look at each other, and smile at each other, and for a moment the world is perfect. But, of course, the moment cannot linger. "Ahem. Back to the recent problem, “ he says, voice only shaking a tiny bit.

"Yes. Horcruxes. And how amazing it would have been to destroy them before he came back. Well, if I find another convenient shelf of Time-Turners I promise to throw myself in."

"Wonderful. Until then, would you care to accompany me to meet our Headmaster? It will probably be quite entertaining to see how he tries to control his face once I confront him with our latest findings."

"Hell, yes. Uh, Severus, make him say it, would you? Press him until he admits it. I want to see how much he is really willing to tell us." He offers his arm, and I take it like a lady would, and we wander to shock the pants off of Albus. Or the robes up. And the strange thing is, right here and now, while the sling around our neck is constantly pulled tighter, I am as happy as never before.

Right now, I am two different people. Day-Hermione, who is with Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville and Luna, and is worried sick about school and tests and the upcoming war, who is unsure and over-achieving to make up for it, but still has fun and laughs and feels safe around the people that mean so much to her. Even though I feel Lavender eye Ron, and I feel him eye me, and all the social conventions and unspoken rules and expectations and agreements and disagreements of our peer group and the whole magical world are incredibly overstraining, and worry how hurt everyone would be if all my secrets came out somehow, I am fine with them. It is strange, knowing that our golden age is over, and the catastrophe is not here yet, and lingering in between. A girl becoming a woman, lingering, too, in between.

And then there is Night-Hermione, who is capable and strong and a little scary, who is prepared and watching and waiting, wards on her back and Time-Sand under her skin, a cold and hard brain, planning with Dumbledore and Severus, sneaking Order members through the castle for meetings in Felix-disguise, luring in the back of darkened rooms and sometimes calling bullshit on obvious mistakes, working with Poppy, working on her own; a grown woman who is deeply and utterly in love with Severus Snape.

My truth is, once again, probably in the middle.

 


	31. The paradox is that 'the play's the thing':

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Canon progresses. The story goes on. It will get dark now (duh). I hope you all stick with me until the very end.  
> ***

 

 

"Tomorrow." The word is hanging in the air, heavy and ugly, and grows bigger with every second that passes. I look at it like a lonely person suffering from arachnophobia would look at a tarantula in their bedroom, in shock, and horror, and anger underneath, but unable to do anything. Screaming won't help, because no one is here to hear me, to save me, _to take it off_.

"There must be another way," I whisper. "Any other way. We steal a soulless out of Azkaban, give them polyjuce and kill them instead, chop Albus' hand off just to have tried it and move everyone to Australia." The words tumble out of my mouth and I know that they are cruel nonsense while I say them, but I refuse to let go, I just cannot let go. Not like this, not just giving up. That's not what we do, that's not what I do.

"Three of the smartest people in the whole wizarding world and this, _this_ is supposed to be our plan? No... No! We tell the muggles everything and they help us fight, ever tried to Avada a freaking _tank_? I'll make Skeeter publish it all, I'll..."

Severus pulls me in his arms quietly. "We talked it all through. All of it. Every version. You were there. We tried. We really tried. This is it. And tomorrow is the day."

"And you expect me to agree to maybe forgetting you forever, and let you rip your soul to pieces, and let you run off with these Death Eaters that will do who-knows-what to you, and you won't even know that you are loved. Severus, honestly. From all the crazy shit we have done this is the one we really, really shouldn't do. Maybe we can find the Time-Turner and I'll throw myself down some stairs and travel in time and change everything, it is maybe possible, and it is not too late yet, I'll tell Harry, we're the Golden Trio, we always solve everything, and..."

"I knew you would not go gently into that good night," he says softly. "And you are wrong. I will know that I am loved. As you said it yourself, knowing that cannot be hidden behind the wall in our minds. It is rooted too deep. When Albus is done, we won't remember any word we shared apart from being student and teacher, but you will know that for the sake of you, someone would blow up the world, and I will know the same."

"And that won't give you away?"

He shrugs. "No matter how hard he looks, without the key he won't even find the door. And we've talked that over for months. Again and again. And we agreed to this plan. We made a decision."

"It is a stupid decision. Brave and stupid and _rubbish_. A Dumbledore special. Trials and tests we have to go through in the right, rewarded way, to triumph over the end boss, and then find happiness with a bunch of vague hints. And since we are Dumbledore's we do as we are told. You know, we can still just run away. Make the castle float in the air like the Ivory Tower from Never Ending Story. No one ever looks up."

"Only that sometimes someone does." He traces the scar that begins between my collarbones until it disappears in the shirt. There he stops. I have been ripped apart by this twice already. And now will be a third time, and I will have to hold myself together in mid-air once more, without knowing that I am capable to do so. I'll have to give up night-Hermione, maybe forever. But still. He is right. Of course he is right. We've talked all that over a million times.

Of course I could have never pulled Harry into this, knowing what it would do to him, knowing what he'll have to do, knowing that we all have to play our roles. Harry is not the kind of person to play a role. He is not the kind of person to not save another. It would break him beyond repair. It would destroy him. And I cannot let it happen, I would rather sacrifice everything I have to not have Harry suffer through it. Or, actually. I _will_ sacrifice everything.

They will go on that mission, Harry and Albus, they will return, they will face the Death Eaters, Albus will hide Harry away to the safety of Gryffindor tower by house-elf Apparition, Albus is going to die from Severus' hand in front of Draco, Severus will escape with the Death Eaters, Kinglesy and the aurors will get the boy, and we will all watch Draco's memories later. At least, Kingsley is in that plan, and Harry will have one last adventure with his greatest hero. At least, Harry will be safe. Crushed, later, but safe, not having to life through another one of these terrible losses alone, but surrounded by his friends, in the safety of a Pensieve, knowing what will happen in advance. It is the best plan we could come up with. And it is tonight. There is no way out. We will safe Harry, we will safe Draco, we will set up everything for our Horcrux hunt, we will throw out the net tonight. I have been caught in that net as well, Severus is, even Albus is. The game had been set too long ago, and now the pieces are moving.

"I will be brave," I promise.

"Of course you will be. And we did the math. There is a chance that we all can come out whole and happy from that."

"Six comma thirty-two percent," I mumble.

"A lot can be done with six comma thirty-two percent."

"We keep having the same conversations." I say as I feel the tears come.

"We must do it now. Or I'll agree to whatever madness you suggest." He takes my hand. We don't let go of each others hand the whole time, Disillusionned and disillusioned, as we sneak through empty corridors in between guard rounds we know as well as our own heartbeats, through corridors that have been empty for years and years, while the other, the normal, the unsuspecting people lay in their beds, in a soft dreamland that belongs only to themselves. We slip through holes and walk over beams, ways that are for spies and house-elves and cats and spiders and outcasts. The castle itself shields us.

When we finally reach the secret tunnel with the portraits of all the headmasters, where they can be how they were and not how they need to look like for the public, there is a new empty frame. This is why the headmasters only come here once, when they take their oaths. The castle knows. It is old magic, ancient magic, and centuries of students pouring magic into it have not lessened it. The roots go deep, grow under the Ley Line knotwork, maybe even touch the magical core of the world itself, the beating heart of energy. For a brief moment I stop at the only window in this tunnel, and activate Seeing, and let go of my Occlumency for Severus. He understands, and sees through my eyes and I see through his, and we watch the magic dance. I understand what I am to him, and he understands what he is to me, and after that we talk no more.

It is me who knocks. Albus opens. "Welcome, my dear friends. My comrades. Welcome, welcome." He lets us in, and hugs us. "Filly, I think is her name, made us some amazing cocoa."

I don't let go of Severus' hand. Albus turns one of his chairs into a sofa, and we sit down quietly.

"I have always wondered," Albus says calmly, "why people torture themselves with these mind games considering their last day on earth. What would they do? Would they forgive their enemies? Plant a tree? Confess dark secrets? Do one last deed of heroism?

And now here I am, and what I'm going to do is the following: I will perform a new and exciting branch of magic on two extraordinary friends of mine to protect them from a madman. Then, I will play a party of chess with my dear Minerva, and if I find myself in the mood, another one with a friend far away from here you need not concern yourselves with.

After that, I will go to my very comfortable bed, sleep in my most fluffy woollen socks, and wake up early tomorrow. I will have a giant breakfast with all my favourite sorts of jam, and leave my desk a horrible mess of papers I do not intend to work through any more. Instead I am going to continue to help one of our most promising students on his impossible task to save the world. And then, my friends, I am going to die, and face the ones waiting for me on the other side. And believe me, I sure hope they look forward to seeing me again as much as I look forward to seeing them again." He smiles widely at us, and I almost believe it.

"Be assured that I am not afraid, or sad, or desperate. For a well-prepared mind, death is just the next logical step on the ladder. And isn't it marvellous, my friends, that we can fool Tom once more through the one thing he doesn't understand? Of course your soul will not break tomorrow, my boy. I haven't talked about it more because I thought it was perfectly clear, but thank Merlin - whom I hope to have some conversations with wherever I will be the next night - I remembered that clear for me does not necessary mean clear for everyone."

He smiles fondly at me, and then at Severus. "There will be no murder tomorrow night. There will be a great and valuable act of friendship, and kindness, and yes, bravery, a good-bye performed under masks and secrecy, to free an old man of pain, which is, I have to admit, quite excruciating, and will be worse tomorrow after Harry and I conquered the next task."

"A mercy kill," I say, and I know that, even though it goes against everything my parents believe in and I am raised to think, that this is not the time to debate weather or not there is such a thing at all. Instead, the coldest and most rational part of my brain, the one that talked me through a werewolf attack as if it were a card game, makes me say: "That increases the chances of a positive outcome for you about twelve percent, Severus, and the same for me, approximately, since you are more likely to find and resurrect me when alive."

Albus claps his hands. "See, children? Now this is the spirit! All right then. I was so free to add a little helper to the process of memory hiding." With a wave of wand, a folding screen disappears and a comfy red couch with a prism wind chime above it is to see. "Since you two are so very talented Occlumentists by now, I hope this will help to put you in a trance and open up your walls."

"They are not walls, they -"

"He knows, Severus. He is messing with us."

"Not appropriate."

"When, if not now?" I squeeze his hand.

"You should go first, Hermione. I need to monitor the first walk-through, and I am used to do it on myself."

"I developed as much of the spell as you," I protest. "And we tested it a lot, even when we created it first." I wanted to be brave and hold his hand and monitor _him_.

"Please?"

I sigh. When it matters to him, all right.

"All right, then. Albus, ready when you are."

Severus and I said everything we wanted each other to know. From now on hesitating would only mean procrastinating.

"Hermione, once you wake up," Albus gestures at some phials with Dreamless Sleep that will help my brain to close the gaps between the memories and work through the loss, as well as getting accustomed to the wall that will be installed, "of course you will be free of all oaths and promises you have made towards the castle. You fought bravely for it, and guarded it well, and if I remember correctly you built in your own little loophole."

I let go of Severus' hand as I get up to walk to the sofa, and do my best to neither look at, nor imagine our fingers separating.

"To protect what it stands for," I confirm. "When I wake up this will mean friendship, and belonging, and growing. Without my memories, this will only mean Harry and Ron. Or, mostly Harry and Ron. I'll go with him after... after it is done to finish the task. As the brain of the Golden Trio. But, this means that tomorrow, when the caste would need a guardian the most... this is just... it feels wrong. Illogical. It is absurd. Albus... I..."

"I know. Believe me. But, if we all three are not wrong - and be honest, what are the odds? - this is our best chance. I have faith."

I bite my lip and pray to anyone who would listen that he is right. "Yes."

"Do you wish to go through the list one last time?"

I say no to that. "We did out best here, I am sure of that, at least. Enough will be left so I don't accidentally screw myself, and enough will be gone that I won't endanger us and the plan in the worst case. We found a balance." I don't look at Severus. Working at our lists together, our triggers and key moments, has been more intimate than sex could ever be. If anything, we were even closer after that.

"I am ready, Albus. As ready as it gets."

"Farewell, then, Hermione."

"See you on the other side," I say, and hope it isn't cheesy. He giggles, and I am glad. As Albus starts with the spellwork, my eyes are fixed on Severus. Only when I start to feel the bone-deep tiredness from the sleeping potion, my view drifts away and gets caught in the glittering prisms above my head, and I feel the gentle work of surgical magic that separates Whisper and Felix, past-me and night-me, and my most precious memories, from my consciousness. They leave me like fleeting piano tunes from another room, and candle flames get caught in the prisms and form a galaxy of warm, homely light, that fades into a picture of my first view of Hogwarts, bright windows over a dark lake, and hundreds of candles under an enchanted ceiling, until everything is blurry behind a curtain of tears.

It is said that, when you drink Dreamless Sleep, you see nothing. You're just gone for a while, and then you are awake again. But the picture of the lonely, empty boat that floats away on the invisible current of a grey ocean under grey skies is as clear and vivid as any memory can ever be.

 

***

 

Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos! I appreciate them so much, and they help me to dig through the dark and difficult parts of the story. Which have only started now.

So, did Albus lie to Hermione about the plan? Or did it go wrong? Where was the house elf? Why was Kinglsey too late to get a hold of Draco? Fact is, Harry was at the astronomy tower when Dumbledore fell. Fact is, Hermione was in the castle, fighting, not knowing what was about to happen. Not to be mean, but I'm afraid we'll never know ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 


	32. though prima donna pouts and critic stings,

 

"So, is it weird for you? Seeing Viktor, I mean." Ginny helps me to fix another strand of hair and pins it up. "Come on you little piece of..." She hisses under her breath as the curl breaks free from the bobby pin and _boings_ back.

"You're good at that," I compliment and hope to avoid answering the question. I am not going to out my Bulgarian friend for the sake of gossip, not even with Ginny.

"Always did Charlie's hair when he still lived here. Once I made him braids all over. He wore them for a week, mum got so mad. But, honestly, your hair laughs me in the face, Mione."

We giggle. "I always wanted brothers," I sigh. "You know, to protect me on the playground, but since we met I started to understand that they're probably what a girl needs protection _from_."

Ginny laughs out loud. "As sure as the Cannons lose the league again. Also, you got Harry."

"Yeah." I smile fondly, suppress the goosebumps of that stupid playground memory, and once again I am glad that Ginny is the most uncomplicated friend and girlfriend for anyone, ever. She just gets things. She's brave, brilliant, and powerful, and she _gets things._ Maybe we should just take her with us.

"Um, Gin. About the... thing we're going to do."

"Harry and I talked it over. He would worry sick if I was there, and that makes him stupid, and he can't be afford to be stupid out there. Thanks, but it's fine. Also, someone needs to keep things moving at the good old castle, eh? Uh, wait, mum got a necklace from Aunty Muriel that would go perfect with that dress. I'm gonna get it."

She runs out of the room, and I understand that staying behind isn't fine at all. As I said. Brave. Brilliant. And so sure of who she is, and what she wants, and where she stands in life. I sometimes feel as if I don't know anything about me, apart from my very urgent need to keep my wonderful idiot friends alive. But even if I didn't know anything else, this would be enough, mh?

Ginny returns with the necklace and Gabriele Delacour. The blonde smiles shyly. "Bonjour," she whispers, and looks incredibly young.

"Hi, Gabrielle. Big day, right? Aren't you glad the gown colour suits you both? Imagine the things people usually do to their bridesmaids, salmon or pink."

She giggles happily, and I am glad I sometimes listened to Pav and Lav and their never-ending dress chitchat. "Ah, oui, wis' ze summer type of Ginn-ie and winter for me, gold is only chance to not look awful for us both."

Ginny shivers. "Remember Ron's dress robes? Somehow I think this is what we would have ended up with, if it weren't for Fleur."

We laugh about this, and Ginny tucks flowers in our hair. I straighten my red dress (very Gryffindor) and mums little beaded purse I still had in my trunk. I have hexed it to hold basically all we will need in the time to come, stuffed everything inside it that somehow looked useful, and I only feel good when its weight is pulling on my shoulder.

The party is huge, and elegant, and glamorous, and feels like a stupid thing to do, considering the situation. Everyone acts as if this will be the last Golden Day Before Darkness Falls, but I cannot help but think that gathering a lot of people, alcohol and lights in a well-known blood traitor location is kind of inviting The Darkness to fall even sooner. I mean, come on – reticle, anyone? Wow. When have I become so mean? No idea, honestly. Mrs. Weasly constantly repeats that Dumbledore would have wanted more love in the world. She's probably right.

Still. It feels like a powder keg, now that I look around. It reminds me of something, but I can't press my thumb on it. My thumb is prickling, which reminds me of Shakespeare, which reminds me of my parents, which makes me sad. I try to avoid it by counting Order Members. The Weasleys, of course, but also Hagrid, Tonks, Professor Lupin, who doesn't look in my direction, or anyone's direction. Professor McGonagall is probably busy at Hogwarts, but the... the... holy cricket, seems like I forgot the name of some of the people I met at Grimmauld Place. Stupid stress. Come on, brain, Order: Moody, Kingsley, of course, Fletcher, Snape the traitor. No, Moody is dead. I can't recall the name of the black woman with the two braids, but I only saw her briefly, mirrored somewhere. It doesn't really matter, anyway. They won't be able to help us hunt horcruxes.

People start to dance, Viktor compliments me, we talk happily after years of mere correspondence. I inquire after Serge, whom we coded as his "best friend" in the letters just to be safe, and he tells me with a wistful smile that they still are "as close as Holmes and Watson, only we vight no crimes, yes?" He also asks about my difficult situation with a friendly raise of eyebrow, and suddenly, to my surprise and delight, the situation comes closer and asks me to dance.

Ron turns me around, and it is what that stupid Jule Ball should have been, and even Viktor looks so _confused_. Still, having this party is all but smart. When the Patronus comes to warn us that the ministry has fallen, I regret for a second that there is no one here to appreciate my I-told-you-so-glare, but that is stupid, so I grab Harry and Ron and Apparate out.

We land right in the middle of London. Many people, good chance to disappear in the masses. I pull the boys forwards; they are still in shock. We change to normal clothing in a quiet corner, and I hand out backpacks and explanations.

"Brilliant, you are," Ron mumbles.

"Always that tone of surprise," I give back. He smiles sheepishly. Harry looks as if he feels awkward. I feel awkward. It is war. We don't have time for this.

We stop at a café to calm down. The snatchers find us in under ten minutes. I Apparate us to Grimmauld Place - it is the first thing that comes to my mind. I feel Harry shrink next to me as we land in the front yard and see the grey, ugly thing appear. I get it, really. When I was here last I would have rather been anywhere else.

No, wait, that's nonsense. When I was here last we celebrated Mr. Wesley's happy return from the hospital. It had been wonderful. I only feel bad now because the memory of all we lost lurks around. Still. "I'm open for better ideas," I say quietly, but they shake their heads. "Okay. Take care. They probably hexed it, in case Snape returns."

They did hex it. But hearing Moody's voice and seeing what appears to be Dumbledore's ghost is less painful than I anticipated. Actually, I feel reassured. They watch over us. We are on the right way.

We all camp in the living room that night. Harry tosses from one side to the other, and sometimes mumbles in his sleep. I wish I could protect him from whatever he sees, but as Dumbledore once said: In dreams we encounter a world that is all our own. As poetic as it sounded, it means you also have to face it alone, friendless, without your logical mind to help you through.

"Mione? You awake?"

"Mhm."

"Watcha thinking 'bout?"

"I can't really say. Things. Stuff. Future. Past. Dumbledore. How he could have trusted Snape."

I hear Ron's mattress creak as he carefully turns to his side. I feel strong, warm fingers on my hand. "Don't blame yourself for trusting Dumbledore trusting Snape. I mean, we all did, even Harry. An' Harry usually knows what he's talking about with his suspicions. Spidey senses."

"You read up on muggle comics?" I smile.

A shrug in the darkness. "Fred'n George got them in the joke shop. No harm in knowing something about some stuff, right?"

I smile at that. I know he did it for me, and feel warm. "And you liked Spidey best?"

"Yeah. Fun bloke, does what he can. You're in for that WonderWoman, eh?"

"Maybe. She's cool. But also the Hulk, actually. He's based on a muggle classic I loved as a child. Mister Hyde. The monster within."

"Huh. Brill. You're gonna turn green when you punch Malfoy next time?"

I laugh out loud, and suppress it immediately, to let Harry sleep. "You never let me live that down, are you?"

"Hermione," he says solemnly, "that is my Patronus memory." He presses my hand. "Hey, I know it all sucks right now. But'cha know what, we've always been strong together. Them Death Eaters, they won't know what hit them."

"I hope so."

"Eh, it's us we're talking about. What can go wrong?"

 

 


	33. there burns throughout the line of words,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! So, you're still sticking around, that's amazing.! :) Now we've reached the chapter with that scene that started it all in my head, and from where I started to spin this story. Thank you so much for going this far with me.
> 
> Warning: Torture. Bella at her best (worst). Not gory, though. But pain and dark thoughts, borderline suicidal, harsh inner monologue. I will sum up the important parts at the beginning of the next chapter. Skip this if you are sensitive to such contents. Practice self care. Your feelings are valid and important.

 

I am screaming. And then I scream no more. My body burns and is so cold I am shaking, my lungs are filled with fire, my bones are shifting and cracking, and all is pain, pain, pain. Time loses all meaning. Minutes? Years? The waves come mercilessly, one after the other, not a second to breathe, no hope, no end, an abyss.

I fall into darkness and the darkness is red. There, in the Red, it is silent.

My mind retreats, ignores all else, and I am back in the ever-silent Room of Requirement, dust glitters in the sunlight, magic softly swirls between sky-high piles of books behind me, and the abyss and the Red in front of me, and right in between, on the thin line that seems to be my living space, is the mirror. The mirror that isn't a gate. No hope, nowhere.

I still touch it, lean against it with both hands. It is cold, just as it was in reality, and smooth. Only that this time something is mirrored behind the cold surface. Another hand, mine and not mine, darker and stronger. And I look up, and there I am, me and not me.

I see a scholar, sharp, battled up and aloof, hair in tiny cornrow braids, surrounded by floating blue formula in the science lab of my childhood dreams. Her white lab coat contradicts her ebony black skin, and the parchment rolls contradict the computers behind her, yet it all fits together. Her face is mine and not mine, trusted familiar, foreign and strange. Eyes like mirrors, mirroring the mirror and nothing else, a kaleidoscope of geometries, endless and infinite.

Are you me? I whisper, Or are you who I should have been?

Yes, she answers.

I stand in front of myself.

She closes her eyes so I don't get lost. I am protecting me from myself.

You will die here, H, she says softly.

I know that voice. It has been in my head for years, ever since the Room of Requirement, guiding me, questioning me, pushing me, forcing me to be my best self, awake and present and sharp.

I can't help you.

I know, I say to her . It's a shame, isn't it?

Yes.

But I can't help me, either. There is noting I can do.

You could survive.

Hardly. They have our wands, and Voldemort is coming. And Bellatrix will end me even before that.

Pathetic.

Facts.

Fight back.

What for? It hurts. I am so tired.

Your friends need you.

Me... books and cleverness... there are more important things – I am drifting away, and I want to. Really. But the voice that maybe is all the books I have ever read isn't done yet.

Oh, that again. Fine.

It's true. All I can do ends where my book knowledge ends. Harry is the hero. But it doesn't matter any more. No one will save me now.

Don't drown in self pity, H. Come on. When have you ever relied on someone to save you?

People saved me a lot....

Yes, people did save you, but you never waited for them. You always stood your ground, you always spoke up for yourself. Remember - if I fall, I will save myself. Is that over now?

Seems like it. Can't I just let go? It hurts. So much. And I am scared.

 So you let go?

  _I refuse to let go_. - Wait. What - I - there is something. Something important. I don't know - I don't know.

I can't hold on, I tell her. The Red is behind you, you know? Behind the mirror. It is... waiting. If I fall now, I can't save myself, never again. What can I do? Whatever I do, I will fall. This is how it ends. And the things... the things that are almost there, like shadows... I will never find out what they were. They will be lost. I will be lost.

 Lost. Lost. Lost.

 

Pain.

 

Somewhere someone screams, but here it is silent, until the scholar talks again.

Are you taking the fall? For what? Dumbledore's intrigues? The wizard world that lets you drop like a hot potato because of your blood? The ministry that blindfolded itself so happily? She scolds.

I wonder about her wording, of all things. But what difference does it make? I can wonder about whatever I want. Here, where nothing matters any more.

Are you taking the fall? Why does she make it sound like a choice?

Maybe... Maybe I will. At least it will be quiet. Without Bellatrix' laughter far beyond. The sound cuts me. Most sounds do after the Silence.

Maybe I will take the fall.

 Then look at it. Look at your future. Look at the Red, she taunts.

I do it. But, somehow, I can't see it any more. Between the Abyss of pain, that grows deeper with every moment, pulsing and darkly glowing, and the all-swallowing, gleaming Red, is something else. A wall. A huge, cold, grey-glittering wall, that reflects me just as well as a mirror, reflects a blacker, stronger, happier woman, standing in a wooden fisher boat, mirrors mirroring mirrors, and I am in the middle, not knowing who I am any more, outside of pain. Which one of these images? All of these? None of these? Can I fall?

I feel myself whimper, in my mind and outside, and hear a faint laughter answer it. Is it shut? Is the Red shut as well? Am I lost in this no man's land, until the black ugly pulsing takes me for good? Had there been a choice after all, between bad and worst, and did I lose that chance? I feel myself sinking to the ground, leaning my head against the mirror.

 And this is how you chose to go out? On the ground, whining? The scholar scolds.

Whining. Whining? That's... offensive.

I am in actual hell here, people have gone insane from that, and she... I... No. No. I am not whining. I am suffering. Because someone is making me suffer. Because they enjoy it.

Her voice is cold. A cold, hard brain: And you let them. Let them laugh at you, belittle you, push you, make you fall, use you, and look down on you. Torture you.

For fun. You are letting it happen. Even you let it happen to you now. You _let them get to you._

 Even there, in the Red, the Void, at the Abyss, where I am standing inside of myself, in front of myself and next to myself, is another layer underneath, another inside.

And in there sleeps the demon, and it growls at her - at my - words.

Don't let them get to you. As if it was a choice. As if I had a choice!

I look up to the grey wall. The woman, in a sailing ship now, holds the steering wheel. She is in a storm. The Red wails in flames behind the wall. There is a firestorm in me.

And, even though it can never have happened before, because I do not recall ever feeling like that before, my whole being seems to remember another stormy night, while everything I am unites in a single word: "No."

More pain, immediately, mercilessly, followed by more laughter, outside, in the real world. Something slashes my arm, and red pulsing unites with the black, and writes the word MUDBLOOD on the grey wall in bleeding letters.

Is that how you want to take the fall, H? With Bella Lestrange laughing at you, throwing slurs and engraving her hatred into your flesh? For what, Hermione?

Now this one I can answer. A question, an exam, I have been studying for for years. A question I have been answering for years every day, ever since I set foot into the maze under the castle. For Harry. For Ron. For this whole world I discovered, where I am not a freak. This is what I fall for.

Is that your best? Really? Is death all you can give?

Give. Why does everyone always wants me to give something? Give answers. Give knowledge. Plans. Ideas. Give more. Do more. Know it all. Solve it all. Give my best. Let everyone take all that I have and what was left after that too. Just to deserve a place in a group, a school, a world, where everyone but me seems to be welcome without giving. Without having to try this hard, but I have to keep giving. And now, even give my life. Give my life to make sure I won't give away the mission. Give Harry another chance. My life is all I have left to give.

But maybe - just maybe - I am tired of giving.

No.

No, death is not all I can give. I have more. But maybe I don't want to give my best any more. I don't want to give my life. My best. Maybe I want to keep my best and guard it. I always protected my friends. Maybe it is time to protect myself now.

Her voice gets louder now, louder, over th firestorm. Then do so. Keep your best, and use it, and get out. Burn the bridges and walk over the abyss. Walk on air. You are a witch after all. Pictures talk and owls carry post and green light kills, and maybe all the mirrors are gateways. Find out. Fly or fall now, but take the step.

Suddenly I am up and stare at her- I am met by mirroring eyes. I stare at the woman on the wall, a sailor, a captain, an admiral (napoleonic - what does that have to do with anything?) steering her ship (I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul), holding onto the steering wheel, eyes closed and face in the wind, as she makes her way up a river to a silver caste in the distance.

And next to me, in the corner of my eye, stands the demon, also me, a creature of fire, a creature of the Red, forged in pain and solitude, and chained by logic and a cold, hard brain. But when it breaks out, once it will break out - how dare they, it whispers. How dare they touch me.

I breathe. Inside of me, in front of me and next to me and behind me, I breathe in the pain. Is that all they have? Is that all that is left? Blood and Red and Black and a firestorm, knives in my lungs and fangs in my muscles, red eyes and stormy clouds, and being ripped inside and out?

Is that all what's left? Pain and questions and a wall, like all the walls I ran against all my life, all the walls separating me from everything I saw behind them, sometimes stone and glass, but always words - girl, bookworm, know-it-all, muggleborn, mudblood, MUDBLOOD and PAIN?

And next to me, the demons laughs. The world is pain, it says. And pain is fire. So give them fire.

Fire. Lights can kill and lights can heal, I saw that once, and words can break a prison or fix glasses, and the walls are made of glass, and glass can _break,_ and glass sheds break light and broken light turns to rainbows.

The scholar smiles at me, and I see her hands, her elegant hands, holding prisms, and lights dance in between.

And broken light can be united again, and be white again, and nothing is ever lost. I am broken but not lost. I can still try. I have to try.

Lights dance.

Fire, give them _fire._

I am not done yet. I am not lost yet. There is more. For me. And I am not taking the fall. I am more than a girl, more than a muggleborn, more than just Hermione the know-it-all. I am the woman in the mirror and the woman in the boat and the woman forged in fire. And I am me, in between them all, just a girl but so much more than just a girl.

I will not die. Not here. Not like that. I am not done.

Not yet.

Not yet, beats my heart. It is still there. Still beating. Its beats fill my body with blood, fill my ears when I am thrilled, fills my head now that I listen again. Fill the Red.

I called it a traitor more than once, and now, its constant beating is my only ally.

Not done. Not done. Not done. Not done.

There is a heartbeat in the silence like a drum.

Not done. Not. Done. Not. Done.

But how? How can I return?

 What is torture, H? Asks the scholar.

I feel a smile filling me from the inside. That's the thing with smart people. You only need to ask the right questions. So, what is torture? Pain. Fear. Helplessness. Being at a cruel ones mercy. To break you. Empty you. Take the will to live out of you. Take everything from you. Cut your ties to the world and leave you behind, drifting. Not a danger any more. Not connected any more. Not a person any more.

Then, why isn't it working? People broke from less, you know that. And you stand here, calmly discussing with yourself.

Because...

Say it!

And I understand. It is a bitter smile that fills me now, but a smile nevertheless. It is because I have fought that battle for so long I can barely recognize it any more. Once upon a time a little girl fell on a playground. Fell forever and hit the ground, hard, and was left there in the cold sand with broken ribs, breathing fire.

Fire, fire, pain.

And a whispering voice in my mind reminding me of dad's bedtime stories, of Arthur and Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table, and a Silver Castle on green hills, a sword in a stone, and of dragons. And this whisper, a child's fantasy, insisting that if I could breathe fire, I could be a dragon, and I could fly, and make the blue skies my home, and never fall again. And it was this fire inside, a loneliness, a longing, longing to be safe again, that sparked my ever first accidental magic. A blue flame that lit up a tree, until the adults came running. A memory, burried so deep under books and words and knowledge, a lifeline to a world full of connections, where there is more than cold sand under me and blue sky over me and fire in me. And then the Basilisk. And the Room of Silence. And all the lifelines in the world could not have been enough.

Learning. Books. Cleverness. Understanding how everything is connected. Not being connected to it. Drifting away. Lost in an ocean, alone with myself, all alone. And being a person nevertheless.

A person, fighting to come back. Fighting for every day, every step, every piece of both worlds. Often wondering if it had to be this hard. Often wondering how all the others could stand it. And still doing it. Weaving a net, a safety net that would be there if I ever fell again. Fighting for every strand and never letting go. Building. Sowing. Reaping. Laughing. Warmth. Hugs. Smiles. Dancing. Running. Peppermint and parchment and freshly mowed grass and something deep, smokey, almost palpable, yet our of my reach, but good. A shadow, but a gentle shadow, more than I remember and more than I have known. Love. Friends. Family. Love, love, and more than love. Loving the world back. Being loved so much, so deeply, so truly, that it is anchored in my ever fibre, that every heartbeat tells this story, repeats this word. Loved. Loved. Loved. I am not done. I need to find out about this shadow. There is something. Something Bellatrix cannot cut. Something that fills my net with magic, magic wandering from knot point to knot point, until I am safe.

All the normal ties to the world than can be tortured away are not there any more. Everything everyone else seems to have, this effortless moving in the world, connecting just by being, just by existing - I have lost it, if I ever had it all. And I think that, in time, she could even erase my own net, the pain could wash out and wash away Harry's hand on my shoulders and mum's hands around mine and dad's around ours, but not this one thing that is hidden inside of me, not the essence that fills it all with magic. Maybe I have something more than even Neville's brave parents had. Something hidden. And the mere chance is something worth fighting for.

And there is nothing more to take away from me. She took what she could and the rest is mine. And what is left cannot be broken. I let go of the mirror, I stand alone, and breathe, and the demon smiles, and it is time. And I open my eyes.

And the Mirror-Eyed Woman opens her eyes, and the Captain opens her eyes, and the Demon opens her eyes, and I open my own eyes to the real world.

 

It is cold. It is grey. It is dark. My head has fallen to the side, so the first thing I see is one of the ground-deep windows of Malfoy Manor. It is so dark outside, and I see my own face in the reflection, once again. Maybe mirrors are all that there is left in the world, and I will drown in my own face. But here, different from the place where I just returned from, I know who I am, which version is me. This is not my face. It is younger, but so much harder. There is blood all over it, one eye is a dark void, but there is steel in the other one. This other one, Mirror-Me, recognizes me. And she smiles. A wolfish smile. And maybe all the mirrors are gates, and the reflection is what protects us from the nightmares on the other side. And maybe I am the reflection. And I smile back, all the women inside of me smile back, nothing is real, only a kaleidoscope of shapes and mirrors mirroring mirrors, but the pulsing pain reminds me of who I am and what I have to do. This also is a riddle, but a riddle for another time, something I will figure out eventually, who she is and why she sees me, and if she is real, and what real means after all. But not now.

Fire. Give them fire.

Slowly, I turn my head away from me in the mirror, and away from the inside world, to face Bellatrix.

"Awwww, what is it, mudblood?" She grins and touches my cheek, plays with my hair. She is still sitting on top of me, heavy, and soft, and old, and rotting.

Hate awakes. How dare she? I am still the Woman with the Mirror Eyes, I am still the Captain of the Grey Ship, I am still the Demon of the Red. I am still Hermione Jane Granger, brightest witch her age, and I will be damned if I die with that worn-out fanatic on top of my body.

Magic is boiling inside of me, the lions roar, three-women-in-one look at the world with bright eyes. The ward on my neck prickles. No one touches me unless I want it. How dare they?

How dare they?

  
I am only able to do one piece of wandless magic. No matter how hard I tried, it has only ever been one. My signature charm, the bluebell flame.

And then, everything happens all at one: Bellas hair catches blue fire and she jumps off me, yelling. The curtains burst into flames, the chairs, the window frames, the windows shatter and Mirror-Me disappears for good; fire is reflected in sheds of glass. Fire is everywhere, blue fire that swallows the whole world - and then there are Harry, Ron and Luna, accompanied by Dobby; a sudden fight emerges, a chandelier falls, fire, fire everywhere, Ron grabs my hand and we are ripped away from this place.

 

 


	34. the cultivated act, a fierce brief fusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious. And however difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.  
> It matters that you don't just give up." - Stephen Hawking
> 
> Today, we lost Stephen Hawking, whose brilliant mind and ideas helped to inspire a part of this story. Because of this, and personal stuff, I'd really like to see another happy end today. So, no more delays and perfectionism-induced over-editing.  
> Right now, for Hermione, things will get (much) worse, before they get better. Thank you for sticking with her, and me, and coming so far with us. Thank you all for the lovely kudos, and comments, and more attention than I ever thought this would be getting. I am still overwhelmed and extremely thankful!
> 
> And now, without much further ado, the rest of this story. 
> 
> ***

 

After being on the run for months, being captured by snatchers, tortured just-for-fun by Bellatrix, brought to the red edge of my mind and the black abyss of pain, and being kicked out of there by my very unfriendly self in a mental mirror, and setting Malfoy Manor aflame with the only wandless spell I could ever perform, and the dramatic breakout where we lost Dobby, Shell Cottage is a haven.

When the boys have gone to bed, Harry tear-stained and hard-eyed, Ron shaky and unsure of letting me alone, accompanied by his big brother, Fleur tends to my arm and the slur Bella has carved into it. She is gentle, and capable.

"This will 'urt." She says spells and enchantments, in a fluent, song-like Latin that doesn't sound as if it should work, but oh it does.

"I am no 'ealer, sis is all I can do."

It is more than enough. I look at her, really look at her, and suddenly all the Veela beauty is meaningless. Masks and mirrors, showing people's desires instead of a person. But she is a person, and what a person! And I have been blind, blinded, but after the Red I see the world more clearly. As if the pain had washed out all the fake colors, ripped all the veils.

"I am sorry," I blurt out. "When you were with Bill first I wasn't nice to you, because you are so beautiful, and you talked the Burrow down. Not that I felt at home too much there, but Harry and Ron do, and they are basically my brothers. Harry, I mean."

She nods, and puts a soft salve on my arm, and looks sad. I feel worse. "It's hard, right? Not being seen as you. I mean, I am not beautiful. But I am always smart first, before I am a friend or girlfriend or woman at all. That's Hermione, she's smart. I could be a brain on a stick instead of a person."

"And I am always a... a face. Apart from my family, only my William, he sees a human. And you, now. I am not angry wiz you. You are still very young, and you try. Sank you for being 'onest."

She touches my face gently. "But your eyes are old, 'Erminee. 'ard. If you have need to talk..."

I shiver. How could I talk about the Red, and the Wall and the Mirror? "I guess I need sleep, first. That was a very long day."

She smiles, but I get the feeling that I have pushed her away. “How did he ask you out? Bill, I mean. I remember the boys at the Jule Ball making complete idiots out of themselves.”

Now she smiles for real, and that smile blows me away. “We were working at a grave in eee-gypt. Curse-breaking, day and all night. In the morning, 'e asked me if I liked English breakfast. I said no. 'e said, no, me neither. 'e took me side-along to Prague, and we 'ad waffles. Warm waffles, wis' chocolate filling.” We share a fond smile. This is such a Weasley thing to do, only enriched with a hint of worldy wisdom, a bit of traveling experience. Some chocolate against exhaustion, bonding over sweets, make a home with what you have, where you have it.

I grin. “Take care to tell Molly specifically what colour you like best, or you'll end up with a maroon Christmas sweater. She likes you now, but she would totally do that.” Fleur wrinkles her nose, and sighs overdramatically, and I almost laugh. It feels weird, a foreign sound in my throat that won't come out.

“Enough now, ma petite. Bed time.” Fleur Delacour Weasley, friend, Gringotts Curse-Breaker, Order Member, Beauxbatons-Alumni, Triwizard-Champion, dancer, wife, sister, and daughter, quarter-Veela, tucks me into bed her very self and opens the window, so that I can hear the wind chimes and the waves and the rustling sea grass. She says they heal.

Of course I can't close my eyes. Whenever I do it I see Bellatrix and the Mirror and the Red. The boys both took Dreamless Sleep, but I haven't touched mine.

Outside, the wind chime rings softly. Grandma used to make them. I made some in the Room. Albus turned one into prisms in Albania.

_Wait. What?_

I shake my head. Just a picture from a book, an old wizard in front of a wooden hut. Arthur, probably, Merlin. My mind is Camelot, after all.

I sit up again. My mind is Camelot. My mind is Camelot?

The Captain-Me was steering a boat to a silver castle in the distance. I feel something tingle in my mind. The wall. I read up on psychology a while ago. I know that all the pictures I saw while I retreated to  my mind meant something. The Abyss was quite literal, the danger of being consumed by the pain; the Red was a symbol for the lostness the Longbottoms suffer, all ties to the physical world burned away; the Scholar-me in the mirror was someone to discuss with, the Demon was my darker emotions, the ones I usually conceal with logic.

I needed this made up group of people there. Humans need other humans to voice their ideas, to discuss, to grow, and I was so alone. And loneliness only feeds desperation. This is why I started talking to - who did I talk to in the room? Only Dumbledore? What did the Captain-me stand for?

_Focus, H. You're up to something._

So many riddles. So many things I don't understand. For example the other Hermione, outside of my mind - _no. Not now. The Captain. The wind chimes. One riddle a time_. _  
_

Quietly, I get up, grab my jumper, and go outside. I put a Disillusionment on myself and pull the time-sand to my Hiding Ward. If there were Time-Turners left I would have broken one, injected the sand to the boys and hid them under Wards as well. But there are none, and I didn't want to be separated from them in hiding, not even in the Manor. Also Greyback would have smelled me, like Remus did.

What? When?

Invisible I stare at the ocean. _The waves go back and forth, back and forth. This is evil, girl. I need your help._

I start to move my hands in a Tai Chi form. I do that a lot, to focus and calm down. Grandma taught me in the room under water. No, wrong. I learned it myself in the morning sun. No, wrong.

I shake my head again. Something tingles. Is it the wind chime? Is it something in my mind? Something. Something I cannot quite grasp. A shadow in the corner of my eye. But not a threat. Something I lost. Something I didn't lose.

I close my eyes. I remember the Red, the Abyss, the Mirror my other self looked out from, and the Wall. The Captain was steering a boat. A boat on a river.

A grey ship on grey waves. The captain. Maybe she is the key.

"I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul," I say out loud. Nothing happens. Latin, maybe. All wizarding life turns around Latin.

"Invictus."

Nothing. I fire all my remaining Latin which isn't spells. It is not much, to my shame. "Per aspera ad astra? Alea iacta est? Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus? Ceterum censeo carthaginem esse delendam?"

Nothing. I've only got one more: "Dolor hic tibi proderit olim."

The wall does not break. It _shatters._

 

When I can think clearly again, I find myself curled up at the beach. Within a heartbeat I am back on my feet, constant vigilance, damnit! All this... information. It is dangerous. The voice of reason peaks around the corner and shows me the finger. That is what you get from poking your own mind. Damnit, H!

Having these memories right now is dancing on a powder keg twirling torches. The Wall. I need it back. And the realization hits me out of nowhere: I cannot do it on my own. That was never part of the plan. That was never practiced. That wasn't even calculated. And I screwed up. Completely. I couldn't let it go and now I am the leave that could turn the whole war. In Voldemorts favor.

Albus. But Albus is dead. Severus. I need Severus. He is my only chance to fix this mess, and it needs to be fixed, or I am doomed and he is doomed and Harry and the whole damn world are lost. I am panicking, and try to breathe, and relax, and think. Severus. But how - ?

Does he still have the coin I slipped him in Albania? The one that you can't lose, the tracker? Would he be so careless? Or was it harmless enough? Would he allow himself one keepsake? The coin I connected to my point-me? And can I - could I? Should I?

I have to. I need to. For the sake of us all.

I get out my wand. "Point-me," I demand. It starts to pull into one direction. No, wait. I can't just plopp into existence next to him.

Has anyone ever tried a Proteon Charm from afar, without the objects close by? Well, there is only one way to find out. I fiddle out a Knut, and bark the spell, and heat it up with my wand. Then, I write "Moonys Place. Help. Felix," on it and hope it works and is enough and not too much and not too little.

I slip into my second skin - the one I agreed to forget despite never having needed it more than freaking _now_ \- and Apparate before I can start doubting. Acting, quickly, be smart now, brave later.

The hut is empty, cold, and dark, and memories are written all over the scratched walls. I agreed to let them go. After long minutes, spells scan the place, searching. I don't avoid them this time. I need to be found.

When he appears in the door frame, filling the whole room with his presence, his energy, his strength (a boy in the hospital wing, a Jedi knight in the forest, a dark prince in my arms) I am so relieved I could cry.

He looks - indifferent? He crosses his arms. "My. Felix the bounty hunter. You haven't aged a day."

It cuts me, but at the same time, ensures me. He is still safe. Can I maybe persuade him to help me without finding out what really goes on? Without endangering him? Can I find a way?

"Can't say the same about you, sweetheart. Also, what happened to your _hair_? Merlin."

We stand in silence, unsure of what to do. Then I see it. The micro movement of his hand in my direction.

"My wall withheld torture," I whisper. "It only fell when I poked it myself."

"Mine didn't," he croaks.

The demon in me wails. "You were tortured?!"

"No. You were. The Dark Lord stated an example on Bellatrix and Lucius until they confessed it all. He made Draco watch. His mind cried out so loud I heard it over here. It triggered... Some. Some memories."

Some? Only some? My walls broke down completely, didn't his? Or did he go for a more permanent solution... No! "Severus, I..."

He just stares at me. I just want to be held, this one time, but instead he points his wand at me, and scans. Always the spy.

_Don't be bitter, what did you expect?_

Both my normal voice and the voice of reason feel terribly ashamed as he casts several healing spells on me, the ones that sound like song. Only after the pain leaves I notice how much still had been there, even my teeth had been hurting.

"Hermione." He hisses it through clenched teeth, and then makes a hasty step into my direction, only to restrain himself again. Without me having an active say into it, my body rushes forwards to him, as well. We hold ourselves back, just a step away from each other, an Abyss in between.

"Everything. I remember everything. The Wall held under torture, Severus, it worked, I withheld and I got out. It only broke when I started questioning at Sh- at the place where we are safe. Oh, Severus, please tell me you didn't go any further than me, that you didn't take your own memories, please..."

"I remember that you met me both as Whisper the Ghost and Felix the Bounty Hunter, and I know that we were paired off for the search of an item for Dumbledore, which helped killing him in the end. There is also a sentence of importance."

"And do you... do you want to know more? It is not safe, it is..."

"Yes."

"Maybe you can't fix it later. This was... oh, I should have never come here, I am so, so sorry..." I hold both my hands over my mouth to stop the words from tumbling out.

"Be assured, when it is a question of mind magic, I can very well fix it. Since you came to me, I am fairly certain you know this already, and I insist on you telling me." The grip around his wand changes. The decision is taken from me, and I am so, so thankful.

"Dolor hic tibi proderit olim," I say without breathing, I can't not tell him, I have never needed anyone as much as I need him now.

He repeats the sentence, and suddenly there is a look on his face I have never seen before. It is the look of wonder. "Oh," he says softly.

I fly into his arms, hide my face into his black robes, and start to cry. "There, there?" He carefully pats my head. In between sobbing, I have to laugh.

"What is funny?"

"Nothing." I get myself back together and clean my face with a wave of wand. Without letting go of him fully. "There there? They made you Head of a House, and this is how you comfort people?"

"I didn't. The prefects do. Slytherins don't hide behind the robes of teachers." He says it with his usual arrogant voice, but his face tells an all different story. "I didn't know if you wanted to be touched. After the Cruciatus I usually can't stand it for days," he explains. "How much time do we have?"

"About two hours until... the first one wakes up. We are safe in the moment, but we won't stay there."

"Good. He is furious. Quite unpleasant." Oh, the king of understatements.

We are sitting on the old bed, hands intervened. My head rests on his shoulder. "Are you..."

"I'm fine. Fine as in, no need to worry, before you ask. He wasn't mad at me this time. The more the others fail, the better he likes me. I just had to know how you are. And the strange sensations in my mind. I was looking for clarity."

"I'm sorry I broke your wall. Looks like you are much better at that than me."

He grins. "Even Albus called me a genius, my love."

"And then you Apparated out on him."

We smile at each other. "I'm glad you came. I really are. I know that we agreed on something different, but... oh, well. You know. I... I assume it was you who gave us the sword."

"Yes."

"I won't ask."

"Thank you."

"It was... well, I don't know if you want to know, but you really helped Harry. The Patronus... It gave him hope. And we are really running short on hope right now. So, thank you. And don't make me say goodbye again. Never say goodbye. It means forgetting." I flight in quotes. There is something that must be said, something that must be done, but oh I really don't want to do it. Or say it. For real.

"Severus-"

"Hermione-" he says at the same time. We smile at each other.

"It is not safe, Hermione. Not for you, not for me. Casting the doe Patronus was physically painful."

"I don't understand."

I do understand once a silver foxhound jumps through the air around us. Fox and Hound, like the novel. Connected and doomed in a changing world, forever following each other. How poetic. "You changed everything, Hermione. Even the reason why I do this. There are new reasons now, other reasons, maybe even better reasons, and insisting on the old ones causes pain, even if I hide the better ones from myself each time I stumble across them."

"So you... you remember me?"

"Always. The castle has... ways. Each time I remember I am glad I do, and then I hide it again, under the what-if of how it might have been without you and Albus and Lily, and everything in between."

"This is... impressive. Borderline impossible, actually."

"Yes. But we are the ones for borderline impossible, are we not? You broke a Cruciatus Curse. How did you do it? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Remember when you taught me how to built a mind palace? I guess my mind somehow gut used to the idea. I carry rooms inside of me, Severus. I found myself there, and a mirror. I saw another me. It was strange.”

“Felix?”

“No. Not her. Felix has always been a part of Hermione, just as Whisper has. This person there was... I don't know. If I didn't know better I would say, me from another universe. Which is impossible, of course. Something subconscious. Maybe who I will become.”

“How was she?”

I shiver. “Brilliant. Awesome. Terrifying. A force of nature, composed in a person.”

“Then you are her already, you just don't know yet.” He kisses me on the head. “We both have gone a long way, Hermione. But nevertheless, I have to tell you... I am growing tired, and weaker. There will be no more doe from now on. You must find hope where it is in front of you, or carry on without it."

I nod into his shoulder. "And I endanger you even more. I get weaker, too. I can't do that again, Severus. If I get caught a second time... I have to let - let go of the memories..." I started to cry again, and I am everything, but not a force of nature, composed in a person.

"I will do it for you."

"That would be too cruel to ask."

Gently, he touches my hand. "I am the best in the field, and you need the best, if you don't want to end up with severe brain damage, and suspicious white blanks. I will be careful. I will only take the parts where I am interwoven with your emotions."

"The best in his field has sadly very little knowledge of how love works. You are everywhere I look, Severus."

"Then we better start now."

"Promise me to give them back once we won."

"I promise."

"And... and how..."

"Don't wore about me, Hermione. I will hide them from myself as I did before once I am back in the castle. And taking them will be much alike Albus hiding them. You will fall asleep during the process, and wake up where you Apparated from. And you will still be you. Hermione -"

"Never say goodbye," I whisper, and kiss him carefully on the lips. He touches my face.

"Next time we meet it will be on the battlefield. Let us say what we need to say now, for it may be the last time."

"It won't," I say and my voice is hard and determined. "There will be a next time, and a time after that and a timer after that. There will be a time when we can say everything we need to say every morning when we wake up, because the other will be the first person we see when we open our eyes. And no good-bye. Ever."

"All right, then." He kisses me on the lips, softly, and then on the forehead. I have never really realized how much taller he is.

"Mind how you go," he whispers in my hair. "And once you remember again, know that you are my beginning, and that I will never regret loving you, in this life or any other."

With goosebumps all over my skin, and tears floating my vision, I close my eyes, and try my best to let willingly go of all my most precious memories, until I sink into a grey, quiet sleep, where grey waves touch a grey beach, and a tiny boat drifts into the nothing between ocean and sky, and a lonely captain looks forlorn at the beach that stays behind.

 


	35. which dreamers call real, and realists, illusion:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is heavily intervened with the original, sometimes almost to the word. All the amazing-sounding parts are from JKR. All hail the queen.

 

All is blurry.

Harry clutches the viol with the memories as if his dear life depends on it. It maybe even does. Was Snape on our side all along? Did he maybe transfer the headmasters' last amazing plan with these memories, will their combined geniuses save us from the catastrophe that is emerging?

Hope rises like a wild animal in my chest and makes me run faster, makes my eyes sharper and my muscles stronger. I feel my wards prickle on my back. They guide me, and Merlin knows that I do need guidance right now, with Voldemorts last threats ringing in my ears: One hour…

The castle looks cold and dark, even though some parts are still burning. It can be only an hour or so from dawn, yet it is pitch-black, but we know our way without fail as we hurry towards the stone steps. The castle is silent, so silent that I can hear my own breathing and heartbeat, and still his voice. I do my best to push all the recent memories away. There will be a time for this, but that time is not now.

There are no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall are stained with blood. Emeralds are still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood.

“Where is everyone?” I hear someone whisper. I guess it is me.

Ron leads the way to the Great Hall. He holds my hand. It feels safe there in his hand, but I know there is no safety.

The House tables are gone. Who remains of the fighters has gathered here, both living and dead. People stand in groups, their arms around each other’s necks, and even tough Ron still holds my hand and Harry is close behind me I am jealous for a moment; because their fight is over for now, and ours is not. We are to find solutions, bring hope, make decisions. Us. Me. They are not looking for us yet. But they will, and soon.

The injured are treated by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze is amongst them; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand. The Weasleys surround Fred. I can't really see him, but I see at lot of blood, and Madam Pomfrey hurries along. George is kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley keeps caressing Fred’s chest, her body shaking. Mr. Weasley strikes her hair while tears cascade down his cheeks. "My poor boy... my poor poor boy..."

"Oh, Merlin, dad..." George presses out. "She said he'll do, okay? He will make it. At least he has two ears to hold the blindfold straight." He tries a lame joke. I shiver, and I know that the picture of Freds empty eyes and frozen face will haunt me forever, and I have never admired Madame Pomfrey more than in the second she stomped to him with her heavy black boots and the mere shaking of the ground, not even her magic, seemed to break the body-bind on the twin.

Mrs. Wealsey laughs under her tears. Percy pats her arm. "Collected quite a set, hm, mum? One almost a werewolf, one almost deaf, one blind, one traitor, and Ginny the Great. And Charlie will probably bring tiny dragons in onesies for Christmas."

I throw a glance at Harry, who gives me the smallest of nods. Then, I pull Ron, who is frozen on his spot, towards his family. I go over to Ginny. Her face is swollen and blotchy, and she falls into my hug as if all the strength has left her once she is held.

Ron joins Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flings an arm around Ron’s shoulders. And from my new position, I can see the dead, laying behind the wounded.

Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

I feel so sorry for Professor Lupin, who had a family and hopes and dreams and a future, and now none of this exists any more, apart from poor little Teddy. Another orphan of war.

I turn back to look at Harry, I want to ask him to come to us, but his eyes fling helplessly back and forth the dead couple and the horribly wounded Fred, and his eyes catch my eyes, and this time I nod to him - _run_. Sometimes, even if you should plan and scheme and think hard and cold instead, you need to flee.

Harry turns away and runs up the marble staircase. Hopefully he looks at the memories now, and hopefully there will be something in them, something that helps us, _saves us,_ because, to be honest, I really don't know what to do any more.

Time passes. We wander across the former Great Hall, now our emergency camp, and do the best to help. Ginny leaves with some of the DA to go search for more wounded. Ron still clings to his brothers. I stay here, and feel both Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey eye me. I don't know what they want. But anyway, I need to be here for Harry.

I understand my mistake when he does not return. I understand, and it hits me in the heart like an arrow. He has gone. He did what he wanted to do from the beginning of our quest: To face Voldemort on his own.

The full realization is like a bucket of ice water, and I gasp for air. Ron looks at me immediately, feels my distress right through the Great Hall. I catch his eyes and only shake my head. He understands. I can see it.

He lets go of his family and comes over to me.

"We need to go outside," I hear someone whisper, and when everyone in the hall turns their head to me, I understand that it has been my own voice. "Time is almost up." Again my voice, but hard now, determined. "We need to prepare."

"We need to fight," says another voice just as determined, just as strong. Neville stands in the door, wearing a dirty cardigan and holding the sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat and something like the fate of the world in his hands. Head bloody but unbowed, I think, and then, to my shame, I feel a pang of jealousy. I am actually jealous that my friend Neville has endured several months of Cruciatus and is still unbroken, while I survived only one and have barely pierced myself back together. I stand in the midst of war and envy my friend's strength. What kind of monster am I?

But maybe war is the time for monsters and whatever can keep me going must do. They all look at me. But it is wrong. I may be the strategist, but Neville is their general, Neville is the one they looked up to in the year passed. Hogwarts is his and he is holding it. "Neville, what do you think, who stays behind to guard the wounded?" I would bow to him, I really would, but after the Red this is something I cannot do.

He says several names and no one complains, then he stuffs the sword back into the Sorting Hat. "A little surprise for the emergency plan," he mumbles. I nod, without understanding.

We march to the door, to the literal dead line, side by side. We line up next to each other, close enough for Protegos and far enough to avoid stray curses, and wait. We don't need to wait long.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone," Voldemort announces, and the forest spits out Death Eaters, and a captured Hagrid, carrying something I cannot look at.

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There is silence on the grounds and from the castle. Nobody moves. I feel my grip tighten around my wand. Rather go out in a final blast than kneel, I think.

"Come," says Voldemort, wearing his snake around his shoulders like a mocking, deadly fedora.

"NO!" The scream is so loud it should have ripped the ridiculously blue sky apart, coming from the pit of despair that opened in Professor McGonagall's soul. I understand, because I feel the same.

It can't be real. The sun is rising and the sky is blue and Harry Potter is dead.

"No!"

"No!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Ron. Ginny. I can't scream. I wish I could. I can't cry. I want to fight. I want to _kill_. I want to _do something_.

"SILENCE!" cries Voldemort, and there is a bang and a flash of bright light,and silence is forced upon us all. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

And the silence spell is the thing that breaks the chains holding me, the chains I wrapped around myself to hold me together that first night in Shell Cottage. He attacked Hogwarts, my home, he wounded and killed my friends, and my brother, he is taking our lives, and now he is taking our voices.

How dare he?

_How dare he?_

_Fire,_ whispers the demon from the Red, _give them fire._

I start to whisper. The spell is strong, but my cold, icy anger is stronger, and as my lips form every counter-course I know, I feel it shake, and fracture, and lose power.

"You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" yells Ron just as the charm collapses, and the defenders of Hogwarts shout and scream again until a second, more powerful bang extinguishes our voices once more.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," says Voldemort, "killed while trying to save himself - "

 _Finite incantatem_ , I think and mouth and say, and the spell breaks. I tumble for a moment, and the backlash of Dark Magic blurs my vision once more - another bang, a flash of light, and grunt of pain; someone falls to the ground heavily. Neville. I shake my head until I am clear again. Help me now, Wards, help me to help him, help me to save us.

"And who is this?" Voldemort purrs in his soft snake's hiss. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix gives a delighted laugh.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember."

So do I, and I focus on Bellatrix, mark her position in my head, where the magic swirls darkly, and tainted. It is distracting, but it won't be for long, anyway.

Fire, give them fire.

Neville is up again.

"But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy? "

"So what if I am?" Asks Neville loudly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," says Neville. "Dumbledore's Army!" he shouts, and there is an answering cheer from the crowd. I do not cheer, because I understand. Neville isn't being stupid. Neville has a goal and a plan. The snake. He will go for the snake. And my job will be to hold up hope. To make it clear that Voldemort cannot hurt us, that Hogwarts is stronger than him, that all his spells break and fail in the end. I need to show to everyone that he is not that strong. Neville looks at him directly. Looks at the snake.

Good. The last Horcrux. That leaves Voldemort for me. I will take over for my Harry. I feel my wand pulsing in my hand, and the ice cold hatred in me answers. Avada Kedavra, I destroy as I speak. You have to mean it. I mean it.

"Very well," the Dead Man answers. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head," he says quietly, "be it."

He conjours the Sorting Hat. I suppress the hard, humorless laughter in my gut. Seems that Neville has quite an understanding for drama queens. I focus on Neville, and not on the thing on the ground in front of the Dead Man.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He petrifies Neville and forces the hat on his head. Wands are raised at both sides, and the fight will break out soon again. The air is loaded with magic, barely held back.

"Finite incantatem," I whisper and see Neville relax, just a tiny little bit, but my wards are prickling and my senses are sharp and I couldn't have missed it if I wanted. _The sword, Neville, now, I can't hold against him forever._

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," the Dead Man announces, and the Sorting Hat bursts into flames. I cool down the flames just as I heard Professor Binns explain it a lifetime ago, to a tingly sensation that _Wendelin the Weird enjoyed so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises_ , as the book said. How weird, how curious, how exiting it had all been, back then! And now, our every breath decides mere survival. Luckily, Neville acts his part, he screams and doesn't move, and all hell breaks loose.

Our people start to run and fight, and Gwarp appears out of the forest, followed by centaurs, and Neville has the sword of Gryffindor, and a snake head flies through the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort's mouth is open in a scream of fury that nobody can hear.

"HARRY!" Hagrid shouts. "HARRY - WHERE'S HARRY?"

But I can't look for my friend right now, for what is left of him. Because now, I fight. I shout and point and explode and slice and stun and break, and hope that others protect, because I am _attacking,_ and I have a _goal_ , as I follow the dark stained magic to the Dead Man and his most trusted lieutenant.

The centaurs go wild, the thestrals, even Buckbeak joins, and I cannot help but think that this is planned, long term, that this is structured - but I cannot search for patterns and fight simultaneously. That would only be possible flying, and I sure as hell keep my feet on the ground.

The open field turns to a death pit. Slowly, we are forced back into the castle. Hooves are behind me and I can jump away from a centaur last second, and then Creacher, leading the house elves, right behind him the tiniest one I have ever seen, wearing a red bandana. They join forces with the remaining adults, and they all try to shield the Great Hall, but eventually the door bursts open.

Duels are everywhere. I take out every creature not on our side that stands in my way, the cold hate inside of me overpowering the red-hot battle anger.

_How dare they? How dare they touch what's mine?_

_Fire. Give them fire._

The demon of the Red takes over. I feel both sides of fighters trying to avoid me as I blast my way through, towards the two people I hate more than anything else, towards the end of the world.

Then, I see him, duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and Bellatrix fifty yards away from him, fighting Ginny and Luna. I feel a smile creep across my face as I see that Ginny avoids her Killing Curse. I just need a quick distraction.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

There it is. Mrs. Weasley comes running. "OUT OF MY WAY!" she shouts and they start to duel. And how they duel. A mother's fury meets a fanatics' desire. Jets of light fly from both wands, the floor around the witches' feet becomes hot and cracked; both woman fighting to kill.

"No!" Mrs. Weasley cries as a few students ran forward, trying to come to her aid."Get back! Get back! She is mine!"

Hundreds of people now line the walls, watching the two fights. "What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" Bellatrix yells "When Mummy's gone will they see as black as Freddie?"

"You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!" screams Mrs. Weasley.

Bella laughs. She doesn't know that she is not Molly's.

Ever since the Red, she was mine.

Mrs. Weasley shouts her curse. It hits Bella straight in the chest. But despite all, despite Molly's desperation and rage and fear and need to do it, she could never _really_ mean it. Molly Weasley is made of love, made to love, and love drives her every action, love is her very core, and even though love turns a mouse into a tiger, it does not turn Molly Weasley into a killer. She is rooted to deep in this world, her magic is summer mornings and hot cocoa and knitted scarves and the mild scent of soap and honey a baby has on it. This kind of love can only fill, but never destroy, emptiness.

I, on the other hand, am not limited by such sentiments.

Bellatrix Black Lestrange took care of that herself. And I speak. And I mean it. She explodes slowly, in slow motion, and while she disintegrates I know that no one will ever think anything but Molly's motherly power behind this, the incredible force of nature love can turn you to. It will always be her victory, her glory, her moment, the right kind of love triumphs over the wrong, I know that it is good and right this way, while inside of me a red-eyed demon growls.

Voldemort screams. Then, he raises his wand at Molly Weasley.

"Protego!" roars Harry, HARRY! and a Shield Charm expands in the middle of the Hall, and Harry turns visible. The crowd freezes in shock as they circle each other, and I know that this is Harry's fight, not mine. This is prophecy, this is how it will end.

They circle each other. They taunt each other. And Harry is not afraid any more. "Severus Snape wasn't yours," he says, and something in me swings in response. "Snape was Dumbledore's," Harry says and I bite my lip and don't know why it hurts to hear it, but this is war, this is the decision, this is Peripeteia, and everything hurts all at once.

And then the coin that had been circling in the air falls.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

And the spells meet, and the Elder wand twirls and twirls in the air, and Harry catches it, and Voldemort falls to the ground, slowly, mundane, a dead body on the cold hard ground.

Ron and I reach Harry first, and we fling our arms around him and hold on tight, and hold the whole world together like this, and everything fades out from the three of us as all the people around burst into emotion. I know that there is cheering, and Death Eaters fleeing, and people fighting the last small battles at the edge of the field, and people hug and cry and shout and scream, but in me is silence, and I hold Harry. And even now, _even now_ , I am not fully here, and my eyes search the Hall for something, or someone, I cannot name. But it is done, it is over, and this, too, shall pass.

 


	36. an insight like the flight of birds

 

Everything has become quiet. The living are huddled together in the Room of Requirement, and the dead lay side by side in the remains of the Great Hall.

All but one.

I feel as if it has to be me who brings home Professor Snape. He cannot be left there in the Shrieking Shack. Harry said he was just as much as a hero as Dumbledore, that he gave all of his life and in the end literally his life for our cause, after he unknowingly caused the death of his childhood friend Lily Potter. I really need more of that story. Redemption arcs maybe are what times like these need most.

It is good, but strange, to walk alone through the night again. I stun the Whomping Willow and press the knot. Down in the tunnel that leads to the shack, the low ceiling and earthy walls press towards me. Ugh. There should be a better way to get there.

Finally, there is a light at the end of the tunnel (ha, ha, says a bored, tired voice in the back of my head), and I brace myself for the sight of a corpse. I think I have seen more than enough for a lifetime.

His body lays there on the ground, the way we left him. He looks so skinny, and hollow, and his open eyes are so broken. It is hard to believe he was on our side all along, but after all, Dumbledore trusted him, right?

Only then I notice a tiny house elf next to his corpse. It sits next to his head and gently strokes his hair. A sight that breaks what remains of my heart. The elf looks up, and I hope it won't burst into tears. If it does I'll join in and we maybe never stop crying again.

"Will Miss help Master Bat today?" The tiny elf asks calmly. Something in the back of my mind tingles.

"I am afraid there is nothing I can do for him, apart from... bringing him home," I answer quietly.

"He knew it would be Miss who comes for him. He said it was always Miss to come for him."

That doesn't make any sense, sadly. Maybe he meant Lily Potter, in a more abstract, angelic way. Does it work like this in the afterlife? Is everything forgiven there?

I guess I drifted off, because I feel something gently nudging my elbow. It is the elf. "Miss is very tired, right?"

"Yes. Tired and hurt. But it will be better in time."

The elf nods. "Miss stays in Hogwarts for now?"

"... I. Yes. I think so."

"Miss will call for Filly when Miss needs anything, right? Filly has orders to help Miss with anything."

I am so tired that I am close to crying. Crying for Harry, and Ron, and all the dead in the Great Hall, and the broken man on the ground who was probably alone for all of his life. So much waste. So much loss.

"Thank you," I say, and start to float him out, and wonder why the elf looked so expectantly. They are strange creatures. Maybe this Filly will help me later to explore who they are. Even if I am answering a question no one is asking, I would like to have the answer.

The war is over. I have time for things like this now.

***

I have time. It is over. After fighting it for all my life in the magical community, it is a weird concept to grasp, and I need days to understands. Weeks, to be honest. Kingsley is hunting down the last Death Eaters, and has invited the whole DA to join him. Harry was the first to sign. For him, it isn't over 'till it is. Ron was a close second. He still has problems to accept his own worth, and goes everywhere where he is wanted. Also, there is hardly anything that can separate him from his friends. Well, apart from jealousy, homesickness, and issues. So he kissed me goodbye and left. Again.

Wow. I have become so mean. That is the main reason I didn't sign. Because I would want to hurt dark wizards more than I want to save the innocent. Also, Hogwarts is still a stronghold and the best place to keep out the press. McGonagall is a lioness.

I am the only Gryffindor girl of my year that has returned. Lavender is in St. Mungos now, trying to recover from Fenrir's attack. Parvati has basically moved in with her. There is still the chance of them returning, so the dorm has kept its size. I claim it all for myself until then, in the first hot nights  I change to a cool bed whenever I wake up. Somehow it feels more natural to keep moving, even at night.

I also have spread out all my stuff in the room. This, too, is nice, but a little confusing. For example I didn't really remember the green sweater I found in the beaded bag, or some of the maps which are clearly not about Great Britain. There is even a wind chime, seashells and prisms and a red feather. But, to be honest, I stuffed a lot if things into my handbag, and the wind chime is probably Luna's. She hasn't returned yet, so I can't ask her. She helps her dad recovering.

It is the fourth week of term and the healers still work on my parent's memories. Madam Pomfrey keeps me updated. I am not allowed near them, because I would endanger the healing process. I must admit that I am glad. I couldn't stand to see the disappointment in their eyes about who I have become in the battle. I don't say that to Madam Pomfrey, and she doesn't ask. She seems weirdly fond of me, but I don't really know why. She never seemed to be one for fame, but after all I am one third of the Golden Trio. If this means less scolding, I am in for it.

Everyone apart from Ginny and Neville treats me with kid gloves now. It is unnerving to a point where I doubt that returning has been a good idea at all. It even pushed me so far to leave out homework just to see what would happen. Up to now nothing has happened.

I lay on my back in my own bed, arms crossed under my head, feel the heat prickle on my skin and do my best to think of worldy, real, mundane, understandable things. For example how the heavy curtains move in the wind from time to time, how loud Crooks is purring, and if I would look good with two braids. The wind chime moves over me and makes soft noises. I am not sure why it calms me so much. Then, a ray of sunshine falls through the curtains, gets caught in one prism and lights up all the others, until everything is interwoven in a sparkling galaxy of light.

_Tiny rainbows dance on the wooden table and on my strong brown and Dumbledore's elegant white hands..._

_...Your childhood was all rainbows and butterflies, right, Felix?..._

Scraps of memories fade in and out. I cannot get a hold of them. Butterflies _?_

_... Don't you confuse that with butterflies? You will be confused with a butterfly soon if you don't start to show any respect, girl, he says softly. I laugh..._

_...We laugh until tears stream down our faces, and when the first tear touches the ground, the sad remains of my healing network pathetically start to glow, and magic floats from knot point to knot point, until we are in a silver ball of magic like a universe. And our hands are the sun...._

_... and I stare at the pattern the waves draw at my hands._

The wind chime moves. I stare at my hands. Brown. Strong. Scarred. Rainbows. Waves. And still my own hands, half covered by the sleeves of that green hoodie. The least irritating fabric I have ever felt. Something tingles in my mind. Prickles in my thumbs.

_By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked... And they knew. They knew. The adults knew and let it be. Just as always, just as..._

_Run._

"Dolor hic tibi proderit olim," I say out loud. Crooks stares at me.

With a soft plopp, a tiny house elf appears. "Miss remembers!" she squeaks.

I climb out of the bed and sink to my knees, rubbing my left arm, where the Mudblood-scar is under the hoodie. "But what exactly am I remembering, Filly?"

Instead of an answer, Filly tries to hand me a phial with silvery content. Memories?

"Master Nose told Filly to give these to Miss, when she is ready, and he knew she would get there on her own. He said everything is interwoven. And there were hints. These are yours."

Master Nose? ... Snape? "I... Thank you. I will look at them in the pensive, I guess McGonagall will let me borrow it."

Filly shakes her (?) head so violently that her ears flutter. "No, no. They belong to Miss. They are from Miss. Miss has to take them in!"

I want to say that they can impossibly be mine, but I wouldn't remember losing memories, now would I? "You mean..."

"Drink them, Miss. Master Nose tells Filly that Miss will not trust, and that Miss will not drink something someone handed to her. So Master Nose gave Filly a codeword to show her that I is trustworthy. The code is, Dolor hic tibi proderit olim." She looks proud at getting that out correctly. Absent-mindedly I nod my respect.

Filly knows. And I know these words. They mean something. The tingling in my mind intensifies. I focus on it, and actually see something glitter. I know what it is: When I was under the Cruciatus, there was a wall in my mind, a glittering wall. I focus on it even more, and suddenly there is a scene in front of me. It is me, younger, standing in a secret room, wall-high windows and blue water right behind, like an aquarium, dancing lights on the floor, and my hands. It makes me feel happy, and safe, and at home. The tiny house elf appears with a black lump behind memory-me, and suddenly there is a feeling of great urgency.

Before my ever-present inner critique can comment on it, I grab the bottle with the memories and drown it. It tastes a little like green tea.

I don't know how long I sit on the floor of my dorm while the memories unfold in front of me, filling blanks in my mind and completing a net I didn't know existed, and change everything. I also don't know when exactly I start to cry. But I know that in the end, when the last memory plays out and the whole weight of what I have lost comes crashing down on me, nothing will ever be the same again.

 


	37. Arrows that lacerate the sky, while knowing

 

The Multiverse Theory has always been my favourite brain teaser. Now, it's the only thing that keeps me together. I wish so hard that I never did my time jump, that I never became the ghost of the castle, that I never fell in love with Severus Snape. I wish so hard that I could just be happy and free and love Ron back the way he deserves it. That somewhere, somehow, there is a version where all is well.

I am still at Hogwarts to finish my last year, officially. The truth is, I came to buy myself some time. Time to heal. But this time, trees and wind chimes and coffee are not enough. These wounds cut deeper than the comfort a blue sky offers.

I am alone in my dorm a lot, and I wander the corridors a lot. People stare at me - the famous Hermione Granger. I stare at the empty chairs and empty tables, I pathetically listen to muggle opera, and I linger for a fast step in the corridors, for a swish of black robes around the corner, for soft lips in the library, for dark eyes that see right through me.

It's always the next corner, my torturous heart tells me, always the next room he will be in, but he never is, he never is. And I start to understand how it was for him with Lily. So much pain. So much pain, so many losses for what?

Sometimes, missing him becomes so huge, so important, that I can barely function. Sometimes missing him is a small pain in my chest. He is in my damn mind and I can hardly compose myself. I tell myself to keep calm, again and again, but it keeps coming back. And I can't get out. I know that I am grieving, and that I am far from the state of acceptance.

My mind races all the time, races, races tries to solve what is unsolvable. One idea is wilder and more impossible than the next. But I can't let it go. I walked out of the Shack, and now I cannot move on. I have to do something. Anything.

I wish for it so much that it is scary. As If I could will the whole damn universe to align in my favour if I only came up with the right plan, the right idea, did the right thing in the right way. Sometimes. And sometimes I know for sure that I am lost, lost, lost.

I hate that I can't hate him, not even for leaving me behind, sometimes. I hate what I would give for one more moment, another look like the one before I left, another hug. One dance. One smile. One of these moments where he made me feel as if we're in our small private universe, a world only we understand. One more sunrise in bleak winter, holding on to a coup of coffee, in comfortable silence before the day's battles begin. Oh, just one more. One touch. One kiss. What I would give for just one night.

When did I become so pathetic?

Autumn is coming. A soft smell lingers in the air, and the forest is foggy, and dark, and looks more like home than the bright-lit castle. Hagrid carves Halloween pumpkins with happy faces, and I worry for Harry, who shouldn't be alone that day.

When the new DADA teacher, a milky-faced twenty-four-years-old boy, who becomes extremely clumsy and jumpy whenever I am close, starts to babble about the Unvorgivables and how there is no way to break a Cruciatus, I roll my eyes and just walk out. Neville high-fives me when I pass him, and then leans back and crosses his ankles, grinning. The poor bastard in front of the board turns even paler.

I step outside and feel lighter. There is still air around me and sky above me, and the lake in front of me, and oh, right, that white glowing dagger in my chest as I remember the lake in front of the Narnia window, and Severus next to it, hands in a roof. I show the finger to the lake and turn around, for more hours of aimlessly wandering the grounds. Suddenly, rain falls, _raindrops on the window, these arms around me, and the howling wind, and the soft sheets under my fingertips,_ and the empty space in my chest where my heart used to be aches like a knife wound. An instinct from the dawn of time makes me press my hands against it, and I need all my willpower to force the hands away again. I glance down at them and expect to see blood, but there is nothing but the shadows of raindrops.

I only realize that my way leads me to Dumbledore's grave when I see it.

Sit with my back against the marble tombstone, and press my face in my hands, trying to take the much needed step away from the pain. _Nothing has happened, H, nothing, nothing, nothing of the things you keep seeing, nothing, nothing_... But I can't convince myself today. Sighing, I look up to the grey sky, and let it rain on me, facing the forest, and lean my shoulders against the cold stone. "You know, Albus, this all sucks."

Of course there is no answer, apart from rustling grass and owls wings in the distance. "I think I finally figured it out. The magical lever problem, I mean. What to tell of the things you know. I guess, the right thing is to tell only things that don't hurt someone. Would it have helped Harry to know that his dad was a bully, and that his godfather would try to have his childhood enemy murdered by his werewolf lover? And that said werewolf blamed me for the unchangable future? No, I don't think so. Not at all. Sometimes people need pictures of how things should be. That his father was a hero, and Sirius was an unconditionally true friend, and that Remus was soft and wise."

I almost see him chuckle, and his eyes twinkle gently. "And I wouldn't mind to carry that burden, if people would leave me the fuck _alone_." More smiling, and and gentle nod of his imagine in my head. "And by the way, that stunt with the wind chime, I am still not sure if that was cool or horrible. Clues. Hints. Networks. A vague chance of – of what?I don't know what to make of all this, to be honest." Because of the goings of the universe, a brown owl feather is blown to my feet. I take it, and twirl it.

"Strange, how it is that these small things change it all in the end, isn't it? Did you know that, because Draco and not Severus disarmed you at the Astronomy Tower, the Elder Wand never worked fully for Riddle? And this is why Harry made it in the end? You couldn't have known that, now could you? It wasn't in the memories. Harry gave them to us, Ron and me, because we couldn't believe it.

Severus has tempered with them, I think you know. Heavily. Perfectly. Didn't even know he could do that. Took me out without a trace. He even changed his breaking off with Lily, so that it wouldn't look as if she abandoned him directly after the werewolf attack. So that she would stay untouched of every doubt."

I sigh. "Another asshole move, Albus. Hexing him so he couldn't speak about it. I mean, I get it. What wouldn't I do for my friends? But still." I wish I could cry, but the tears just won't come. "He cared, Albus. So much. The memories... Eecellent storytelling. And you took the fall for us. And I still wish you hadn't. I wish you were here to help me now. And to explain yourself, about what happened to our awesome plan for the night on the tower. And about everything else."

I twirl the feather. It spins and spins, like the one in the wind chime. I should probably add this one, too. I take out my all-cutterly knive that sits on my belt ever since I remembered it, and start to sharpen the quill. Then, I catch my own reflection in the blade. My eyes mirror back at me. Silvery.

These are not my eyes.

"What is happening, Albus?" I whisper, and press my back against the cold stone and my palms against my eyes, letting go of knife and feather.

_.. an old wizard fairytale about your reflection protecting you from entering a world of too many horrors to bear..._

The wind chime turns and turns in my head, and the prisms glitter, and the rainbows dance, and when they are all aligned they built a galaxy of light beams, a kaleidoscope of shapes.

Mirrors. It always comes down to mirrors, does it not? All my worst times have to do with mirrors. And some of my most intense.

_...I turn around and see myself in the splintered mirror, magic shining in my chest like the bluebell flames, filling my whole body with elegantly spiraling sparks..._

_... but I am really not expecting what I see now. There is nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing..._

_... I rip down the blanket and stare at it, wondering why instinct brought me here, instead of literally anywhere else. I step closer and closer, but the glass stays empty of any reflection..._

_...I grip my walls with pure willpower, but I am snappish at the boys, and unfair, and overly annoyed. Seeing myself unexpectedly mirrored in a window and needing too damn long to recognize myself doesn't help either..._

_... when the big night finally comes, they do their work with the precision of professionals, working together on me and over my head as if I was a doll. Once done, they leave me alone with the mirror for a few moments. The girl in there is hardly recognizable. She is older, sharper, and way more beautiful than she should be..._

_... it is the least irritating fabric I have ever felt. I focus on breathing, and risk a look towards the lake. It is, once again, still. My own reflection disturbs me. I don't look like I should be looking. The woman that stares back is a stranger, with eyes like mirrors due to some reflection..._

_... I stare at the glass window and see us mirrored, standing next to each other instead of face to face, and also looking a little different than before. His aura of energy looks even stronger, and I have less colour. Closer to invisible. Closer to Whisper..._

_... I dream that I am awake the whole night, and wander the empty castle, end up in the Room of Requirement, and in the mirror that didn't show my reflection is another me now, blacker, with dreadlocks and glasses and a white lab coat, surrounded by complicated raster of floating blue formula. She stares at me thoughtfully, takes off her glasses to chew on one bracket, and her eyes are mirrors..._

_... the Abyss and the Red in front of me, and right in between, on the thin line that seems to be my living space, is the mirror. The mirror that isn't a gate. No hope, nowhere. I still touch it, lean against it with both hands. It is cold, just as it was in reality, and smooth. Only that this time something is mirrored behind the cold surface._

_Another hand, mine and not mine, darker and stronger. And I look up, and there I am, me and not me._

_I see a scholar, sharp, battled up and aloof, hair in tiny cornrow braids, surrounded by floating blue formula in the science lab of my childhood dreams. Her white lab coat contradicts her ebony black skin, and the parchment rolls contradict the computers behind her, yet it all fits together. Her face is mine and not mine, trusted familiar, foreign and strange. Eyes like mirrors, mirroring the mirror and nothing else, a kaleidoscope of geometries, endless and infinite..._

_...My head has fallen to the side, so the first thing I see is one of the ground-deep windows of Malfoy Manor. It is dark outside, and I see my own face in the reflection, once again. Only that it is not my face. It is younger, but so much harder. There is blood all over it, one eye is a dark void, but there is steel in the other one. The other one, Mirror -Me, recognizes me. And she smiles. A wolfish smile. And maybe all the mirrors are gates. And maybe I am the reflection..._

_... the galaxy of lights in the wind chime twists and turns..._

_...and our hands are the sun..._

_...the multiverse theory has always been my favourite brain teaser._

I rip my hands away from my eyes and open them wide. The mirror in the Room of Requirement is not a gate, or a door, or a magical mirror.

It is a window.

And ever since I looked in there for the first time, I have been watched.

By myself. By different versions of myself. While I was so busy creating other versions of myself, the real other versions from different realities have been watching me. Somehow. Because of some reasons.

Somewhere, somehow, everything is different. Somewhere, somehow, everything is still possible. And they see me.

That means, maybe I can see them, too.

"Thank you, Albus!" I jump to my feet and I run. I run until my sides burn and my breath is short and harsh. Oh do run.

When I finally reach the Room, I immediately remember the most direct way. Only then I am remembered that Harry has burned it down.

My shelter is black and grey and ashen. Many things are gone. Some other things, once protected by piles and piles of crap, stick out. And on the other side of the room, untouched by fire and destruction, is the mirror under white sheet like a ghost.

I walk carefully. Still, ash bursts around me and paints me grey and black, too. My fingers leave dark prints as I pull away the sheet in one move. It slowly sinks down, falls heavy in the ashes. They spiral high and away. I wonder what kind of magic protects the mirror even from fiendfyre.

I press my hands against the cold surface. "I know what you are. I know what you show. Please let me see!"

And yet, nothing happens. No magical solution, no open doors, no answers; just a cold, silver surface. I had been so sure... Tears fall, and they don't stop falling, and I curl together on the cold ground, and ashes fall like rain, and I cry myself to an exhausted sleep; the only sleep I seem to find nowadays.

When I wake up, an old woman sits in front of the window. Sunlight shimmers in her white hair, and there is a blue ocean behind her. She smiles kindly, and from her eyes I know it is me. Old me.

"So, this thing travels in time, too?" I ask as I do my best to pick up my sore body. I feel cold and cramped from yet another night on the floor.

"No, my dear Hermione. It is still exactly the same day." She smiles another smile, as if she is very happy to see me. "I am keeping an eye on you lot, you know? I feel responsible."

I smile back, but I fear my smile is not really a success. I have forgotten how to smile, I think. That's not good. That's not what he wanted for me.

"Yeah, I know that one. But I don't understand this." I gesture at the mirror. I now notice four blue gemstones in each corner of the frame, four gemstone I have never seen before.

"Godric left the Hat, Salazar the Chamber, Helga the Room and Rowena the Mirror," she says. “Not the crown. The crown was a... Red Herring.” She smiles conspiratorially. “Worked out just fine, eh?”

All I can say to this terrible misinterpretation is: “Why?"

"Because, after all, the biggest riddle of them all is the goings of fate," she answers gently.

I nod.

"I will answer all your questions, my young friend. But maybe you should hear my story first. Do you have time for the whole thing, dear, or better just the happy ending?"

Suddenly, my heart feels incredibly light. As if there had been chains around it, and I only noticed their weight now that they break. I am talking to myself from an alternate universe. I was right. I was right. It is impossible, _but I was right._ And she is fine. All is well there. Somewhere in the big wide galaxy, somewhere there is a happy end. Or maybe...

"Or maybe this is the Mirror of Erised, showing me my heart's greatest desire, to show me in the most cruel way what I can never have." I say it out loud.

"Or maybe, just this once, you get that one wish upon a star," she says. "Maybe just this once, things work out."

"Impossible," I say, and as the word leaves my lips I know how I must finish the sentence, if I want to find hope again at all.

"But impossible is just our thing," we say together, because she is me and it is real, and I know it in my heart of hearts, that this is what Albus had set up for me, to make up, that it is real and true and that I am not wasting this chance. I found a window to a parallel universe. It had been there all along, from the very beginning.

"The whole story!" I whisper, almost beg, and she looks at me the way I looked at Felix in the mirror the first time I tried on my new skin, in awe and wonder and somewhat amused about the trick I was about to pull.

"Fine, dear. First of all, we lost the war. It was pretty horrible. Ron and Severus and me led the resistance, but after a while there were only the three of us left. It was all very dark and really weird, Umbridge had Hogwarts, and Voldemort had a daughter... anyway, one day, Severus and I got the chance to steal the last Time Turner from the Malfoys. We modified it for one last trip, travelled back as far as possible, and adopted Merope Gaunt."

"...!" I say. I swallow and try again. "Tom Riddles mother?"

Old me grins. She looks mischievous. "Yep. She grew up to be a wonderful woman, wrote several cooking books, and married a nice man who loves her dearly. They come by with the grandkids every fortnight."

"I.. wow." I do my best to wrap my mind around the concept. "But... then..."

"Nothing of it happened. No war. Everyone lives. And now that I am an old, meddling witch myself, I am having an eye on you kids. Usually I don't intervene, but when I saw you lying there, I couldn't look away..."

"Actually, this is called self pity, my love." A man steps into the picture and kisses her head. He has grown old, too, and put on some weight, and his hair is all silver, but his eyes are still his eyes and his voice is still his voice and his hands are still his hands, as he stands behind old me and places his hands on her shoulders. I don't know what he sees in my face, but he smiles and caresses her shoulder with his thumb.

In perfect synchonization with mirror-me, I raise my hand to intervene our fingers, but in my version of reality, they are not there. And it hurts.

"And, love, you always intervene. Always have, always will."

I look away. "Sorry, but how are you still alive? I mean, the Gaunts, that was a long time ago..."

"Our daughter, Rose, is married to Ruby Flamel."

"Oh. I see. Family secrets, then. Wait, what? How can two girls... Ruby _is_ a girl, right? Are you sure we have the same day?"

"October 18, 1998," answers Severus. "Since Albus had no Dark Lord to fight, he started to engage into... matters of society, accompanied by this beautiful, meddling witch here. Marriage equality, guardian programs for muggleborns in the magical world, rights for magical creatures, he has been quite busy. We correspond."

My heart flutters, and so does my stomach. "So all is well. And everyone is fine."

"Yes. We see them all at the Hogwarts Express each year." Now, Severus grins. "Apart from Dolores, I am afraid. She tries to raise in Ministry ranks and undo some of Dumbledore's statues, but keeps forgetting to show up at important meetings. It's a pity." His eyes glitter. I can't believe it. It is just too wonderful. Way too wonderful.

"Hermione..." I say to Mirrow-Me. "Thank you for talking to me, thank you two..." I can't say his name. From the look in their faces I see that they understand. "But here it's all different. We won the war, but... Severus is dead. And even if... even if I had a Time-Turner... there is no way... I see no way. He died to end the war. Even if I went back far enough to save Merope, I don't know if I could make it on my own... if I can modify it good enough on my own..."

"We did it together, Severus and I. We can provide you with all information we have. But, dear, be careful. Another version of us fell into the 70's after her third year, and was forced to be invisible for the rest of her life..."

"What happened?" The old me smiles. It is so good to talk to myself. No 'are you sure you can handle it', no excuses. It is as if the tiny voice in my head came alive and smiles at me.

"She and her Severus fell in love after he returned to Hogwarts as a teacher, but as the years went by she started to lose her mind. In the end she just faded away. When Harry, Ron and her younger self came to Hogwarts, she was almost a ghost herself. A Whisper. Harry was hexed in a horrible accident at the Quidditch World Cup after she disappeared from her timeline, Pettigrew stole his comatose body and Voldemort returned. Severus and Whisper-Hermione died fighting him, hand in hand. Their Dumbledore told me, before he tried to kill Riddle himself. I haven't heard from that dimension since. Follow your instincts, Hermione. Just do what is right. And if you can't do anything, just try to remember that so very close to you, things are good. Maybe you find hope in that."

I nod, and then I tell her goodbye. It is a really good advice, but right now, it is not enough.

Some of the important days can be see in advance. The first day at school. Your wedding day. When a loved one dies after long illness. You can prepare yourself, for the best and worst possible outcome, and when the day is there, you know at least how it will be. And then there are days, and I think these are the even bigger ones, that start out quite normal and go as planned, but then something happens - and even while it happens you know that there will be, from now on, a _before_ and an _after_ cut into the road of your life, and this happened to me when I fell back to the seventies. And now, in the after, just knowing that somewhere something is all right is just not enough.

 

 

 

 


	38. the secret of their ecstasy's in going

 

The mirror is my new obsession. I spent hours reading on the subject, and then more hours with zapping. If I tap the crystals clockwise with my wand, a new window opens, if I tap counter clockwise, I go back.

Most windows are just mirrors of how the room used to be. Some are dark. Some are broken, some hidden behind veils. Some show empty destruction, deserted red broken worlds, where green flashes alight the ruins of Hogwarts, circled by Thestrals. I don't linger, I switch and switch, and the sun sinks outside, and the planets start their nightly reign.

A lot of the things I see are terrible. Seems like, after all, we are still one of the happier versions of reality. I try to write it all down carefully, to find a pattern, but for now there is none I can see. To many unknown factors. But still, Old-Me is out there, and the other one, the other one that has been watching me, Alice behind the Mirror, the girl with the floating formula, must be there as well.

I somehow know, just as I knew about the window, that she is important. She has been in my dreams, my mind, my head. And I am either about to go mad or about to find out something _incredible_. A secret behind the secret of our world.

But instead of her, the next time I find another me, it is the wolfish one. The one from Malfoy Manor.

The girl in the mirror is me, and not me, even more so than Old-Me. Her features are so sharp you could cut yourself when you tried to touch her face. Not that anyone in possession of common sense would try.

Her hair is in two tight braids, she wears a black frock coat with the emblem of an eye (?) stitched on the high collar. One of her own eyes is just an empty, black hole. The other one is hard as steel. "Hermione," I say.

"Hermione," she says.

I want to ask her so much, but my brain is totally empty. This is different from Old-me. Harder. What comes out in the end is absolutely not what I expected. "I once read this horror story. That a girl was told by her mentor that all the mirrors are gates, and her reflection was there to protect her from entering a terrible reality. The girl said: But this reality is terrible."

"And her mentor said, maybe you are the reflection," finishes Mirror-Hermione.

There is a long silence in which we gaze at each other. "She said you would come 'round eventually," Mirror-Me says. "By now. She's never wrong."

"None of us is, right?" I ask with a smile to break the ice, but it does not break. Instead, I get a hard laugh back.

"Don't know about you, princess, but I was wrong more than once. Actually believed we could win this."

"You didn't defeat the Dark Lord?" Fear creeps up my spine. Is she a prisoner? Can I help her? I have to help her. She is me, after all!

But she just sneers. "Oh, we did. But it ain't winning when you lose too much, right?"

"Right." I can't stand looking in her eyes any more. Too right.

"Still. She said it and now you're here. I've seen you before."

"At the Manor."

"Yeah. And in nightmares."

"Me, too, I guess. You were fighting. Professor Trelawney was there. I always thought it was something from my subconscious," I start to babble, "about failing. But it wasn't, right? It was you."

"Yes. And I had dreams, too. Loneliness. Werewolves. Flying. Falling. You're _old_."

"Time travel."

"Not what I meant."

We measure each other. I don't know what to say. Other-me shrugs. "She said the veil is thin between us two. She also said now would be the time to exchange stories. What happened in your version?" She demands it, but her demand is a beg just as I begged Old-me. And now, again, it is such a relieve to talk to myself. No need for long explanations. When our minds jumps, the other can follow. We are one.

And since once again in this room, I have got so much time, I tell her, if only to bargain enough words out of her so that she would tell me about _her,_ the Mirror-Eyed, the one who is never wrong. I tell her from the beginning, from when a desperate woman tricked a man with a potion to fall for her, and conceived a child that wasn't able to love. I leave out nothing, not my journey in time, not one of my mistakes, not my love (only the most private parts) and not why I am here.

She listens the way I listen, closely, carefully, her head tilted. Sometimes she nods; she _has_ been watching. When I finish my story, she closes her eye and starts to move her hands. I have never done that before, but I get what she is doing. She is helping herself to visualize a gigantic mind map, and connects pins with red threat in her head. Her movements are controlled, almost delicate. Just as coal becomes a diamond under pressure, she is what I can be when forced over the edge.

"The man you mentioned, Severus Snape. In this world he was never friends with Lily Evans. He was with the Death Eaters from a very young age, when he was only sixteen. Lucius Malfoy brought him in after someone played a trick on him at Hogwarts, that was in his trial. I remember the file."

"His trial?"

"The Seers got him before the First War ended. He was a minor poisoner, but still got kissed. What's left of him rots in Azkaban."

I push away the thoughts that explode in my mind with all the strength I have left. "The Seers? If you don't mind?"

She touches the eye emblem. "Oh, yeah, you can't know, of course. Okay. Dumbledore heard the prophecy from Sibyll, and after that it ended up in the Ministry, as they all do. Crouch Jr. told You-know-who about a new prophecy, and since these are rare and almost always interesting, Crouch brought it and Sybill as a gift to the Death Eaters. He was the Right Hand Man after that until his sad, sad ending."

"What happened?"

"I happened." She grins wolvishly. "Anyway. You-know-who poked around in Sybill's mind until he found out most of the prophecy. He left her to die afterwards, and that was a mistake." Another wolfish smile. Seeing it on my face makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Sybill survived. She made it back to Hogwarts, and since her mind had been forced to give out a prophecy at once already, she just kept doing it. She forced herself to know what would happen and when and how, and with Dumbledore she led the Seers, a group of Aurors ready to do anything to prevent the things she saw. The Potters still died, though, and everything happened the way you know it, only that Sirius was never really in Azkaban, and Sibyll never was a teacher."

She laughs now. "Sibyll as a teacher! Weird. She would have driven Minerva crazy - I wondered more than once how they survived the summers in their house." "

"Wait, what? Their house?"

"They are not partners there?"

"No...?"

"And they don't have a secret house in Austalia you inherited, but can't live in since you are in this stupid-ass asylum..?" Now, I stare.

"Oh. Well. Anyway. Five minutes after You-know-who came back after the tournament, Sybill appeared in Dumbledore's office, they reunited the Seers and recruited everyone capable. We were hunting Horcruxes from then on, but it was difficult. He seemed to know what Sibyll knew after a while, and it took us forever to figure out that his secret link was Harry. We were at war for years, and we lost many good people."

She pauses a moment, and swallows. "It's... you know, Sybill changed. She felt responsible for everyone she couldn't save. These years were... eh, nevermind. You can only understand it when you already know, and if you do know there's no need to speak about it. In the end, there was a really big battle. We did our best to keep the dark from gaining more followers, but their side was pretty strong, still. We lost Sybill, and Minerva, and Remus, and Sirius, and Harry... oh, Harry was amazing, he took You-know-who with him in a giant blast. Magic outburst, they say, triggered by true love, I don't know. Dumbledore let the snake kill him right after, and with that time he bought me I killed the snake... Ron shielded me from Bella when he died, she still tried even after it was over already... and that was it. That's all."

"So you are... a war heroine?" She shrugs. "So why are you in the asylum?"

"I refuse to let them grow back my eye." I really, really don't want to know. I still ask. "Bella took it when they had me at Malfoy Manor. Because I'm a half-blood, I only deserve to see half of the world. You saw me there." She says it coldly, like a news speaker reading from a teleprompter. I don't want to think about the fact that body parts taken by magic cannot be replaced, and what that means in context with the possibility of it growing back. I push it away.

"I remember seeing you..."

"Mirror-eye did it. Opened a portal so we could see each other. Meddles, sometimes."

"Yes."

There is silence. "But..." I raise my sleeve and show her the scars as my thoughts get caught in something else. "We are not half-blood."

"Oh, Sirius faked family trees for everyone who entered the Seers. To give us cover." She shrugs again. "Also, I got her back." She grins at me like the Cheshire Cat. "Remember the Sword of Gryffindor? I took her hands off before I killed her. Great duel. Great show. Everyone who wasn't dead watched, and probably even the dead."

I swallow hard now. Really, really hard. "Oh, don't be like that. You would do it, too. It's in us, that's all. We are different sides of the same coin, Mirror-Me. Only that you are lucky."

"And why, when I am so lucky... Why would I do anything to be in a world where I have never travelled in time, where I had never fallen in love with the most unlikely man, where I would not be split in more parts than I can count and one of these parts is in endless grieve? Why am I ripped apart from the inside?" I have never said it out loud. I have never planned to, never thought I could, never thought I could be so terribly ungrateful. But I am literally talking to myself right now. Who else could understand? And this version of myself is dark enough for that.

"And I would do anything," she says, and all the fierce power leaves her within a moment, "anything to be in a world where Harry and Ron are not dead. I would work in a boring job and build a nice home with kids and a cat and a dog and never think of any of that ever again..."

We stare at each other for a very, very long time. I think of what old Hermione said to me. If she could be right. And if the right thing for me really is enough.

After a long pause, Mirror-me takes a deep breath. "I am pretty sure I have gone mad now. Completely bonkers."

"Just tell me."

"Nah. You won't do it. You don't have what it takes."

"I am you, after all."

She snorts. "Fine. It's because of something Mirror-eye said about you. About us. That if you'd find me, you would... you wouldn't stop there."

She bites her lip. I bite mine. Hope tastes like blood. "Go on," Felix says.

Mirror-me nods. "Listen carefully and only use your brain. You said your vision blurred after he died, and you were in a kind of tunnel. Trauma doesn't do that."

"Trauma does a lot of things."

"Not to us." She touches the frame of her empty eyehole. "Never has. Never will. Our trauma makes everything thrice as sharp and clear and painful. So..."

And then, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, it hits me. I look up to meet my own, burning gaze. Now I know what the boys mean when they call me scary. The expression on her face is absolutely terrifying. She is what I will become if I keep going like that. A blade sharpened to often.

"We could do it," I hear myself say.

"Or we could rip the very fabric of the world apart," she says.

"You are pretty overdramatic, you know?" My smile is crooked. And again we stare at each other, measure each other.

"This will be damn hard. Borderline impossible."

I give her a knowing smile when she says that, but she doesn't smile back. And then it hits me again. These words that mean the world to me probably don't mean anything to her. Neither does _fine_ , or _always,_ or _run_. They are just words to her, empty words, cold things in her mouth, and no boat on calm waves has ever helped her to let go of her lostness. And for the first time in forever I feel as if all the things I went through, everything I experienced, even my grieve, my darkness, are a gift as much as a trial.

I had wished to be whole, I had felt broken, and I never really understood that I could have broken to pieces in any other way, world, variation of events as well. And I make a decision: That I want to save her. That I want to help her. That I want to make her part of my narrative, my story, and finally do what I have promised myself so long ago, that I would write my own story, that I would make it right, take charge, take control, find out in which kind of plot I am and change the outcome. And this is not a tragedy, this is not how this story is going to end.

Now I smile in a different way, and she seems to recognize that smile. "How convenient that borderline impossible is just our thing, right? We need to be smart and brave for that. Smart first and brave later. Get all the facts, calculate it all through, do the work. We need more than _the veil is thin._ Do you have a plan? A real plan?"

She shakes her head. "I need to talk to Silver -Eye. Somehow I think she'll know how."

I nod slowly. "And if she knows, and we could manage it, we will do it."

"So this is it," Mirror-Me whispers. "Peripeteia."

"Peripeteia."

We smile at each other. It is a dangerous smile. "It's a huge task. And we would have to do it all on our own. No one can know who isn't Hermione."

We will change our fates. Literally. She would give all to be with Harry and Ron again. I would give all to be with Severus again. But in our realities they are dead, and no magic in the world can bring back the dead. But maybe, if we do it well, if we do it smart, and ignore all the right and accepted ways to deal with grieve and go on, and bent the universe instead, we could actually make it true. Exchange the stories.

She is my reflection as much as I am hers. So I will take her place and she will take mine, and the worlds of horrors unimaginable to bear will be bearable for each of us, because we get back want we desire the most. If we manage it. If we can do it.

I will study it. I will go through everything that happened until I find a loophole. I will find and fix the Time Turner. I don't need years. Just months, and then minutes. I will save Severus Snape. And take him with me to the mirrorworld.

Break all the rules. Risk the whole fate of the universe. Leave my world and my friends and my family behind forever. Save three people. Severus, Mirror-Hermione, and myself. I am not going to make a sacrifice with that. It is the most selfish thing I have ever done and will ever do. I will literally run away from all my my problems to be with my first love. It's insane wish fulfilment. And somehow, I think that after everything I went through, I do deserve it. We both do.

 


	39. some day, moving, one will drop,

 

 

It is night as I sneak into the headmaster's office. Conversations with the tombstone are not enough. Luckily enough, Professor McGonagall hasn't moved into the quarters yet, and all is quiet.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Albus stops his fake sleep immediately. "Hermione, my friend. Before we begin, please remember that I am a mere memory. I can only answer the right questions."

"All right. Of course. So you can't tell me if, he... if the real Albus... If he's well?"

The picture smiles gently. "Sadly, no. I am sorry. I only know what he knew before he died, and not all of it, too."

I nod. "Too bad. Okay. Let's start. I really need your advice, Albus."

"Go on, then."

“The night of your death...”

“Cannot, and will not, be discussed between us, my dear friend. Forgive me. I do not know what you desire to know. But know that, whatever you blame yourself for, has been forgiven long ago. Now, ask what you really came to know.”

Damn. Even as a painting, he sees right through me. "What do you think, generally speaking, off, um, risking the fate of the universe for love?"

He smiles happily at that. "Generally speaking, I have risked more, just for hope. You know, everything is connected, like a delicate domino picture. If one stone falls, everything falls."

I nod. "Please excuse my brashness, but I need to be sure. You set it all up, right? From the beginning. From the moment of the prophecy?"

"No. Later. The prophecy was bow and arrow to me, but later I received information that set the plan into motion - that showed me where to aim, if you like."

"You set Harry up to die, right?"

"Yes and no."

"And Severus?"

"That was never... part of the plan. My poor, brilliant boy. I wished so hard for him to have a future."

"Maybe there is one, Albus. Still."

"He is dead, child."

"There was a dead Severus in the Shack," I say slowly.

"Oh. I understand."

"Do you? Do you really?"

"I do, my dear. I've had... conversations in my time. With a mind quite like yours, but very irritating eyes and manners. I am assured you have discovered what a certain mirror does by now?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," he claps his hands together and rubs them mischievously, like a grandpa that sneaks you five pounds, "all you need is a little time. Am I right? Go ahead then, say the sentence."

And I say it, I say that one day, this pain will make sense to me, thinking that maybe one day is today. The picture swings open, and in the space behind it, where the sword of Gryffindor was sitting, is a small wooden box. I take it out and the picture swings back, and O don't have to open it to know that it holds the last Time-Turner.

"You said yes and no."

"Indeed I did."

"You had the Time-Turner. And you are Albus Dumbledore."

"Indeed I am." He smiles brightly.

"You cheated, didn't you? You somehow managed to jump to the future. And you knew how it would end."

The picture smiles and nods.

"Who told you, then?"

"You did, of course, Hermione."

In the strange stage of highly focused calm I am in ever since I found the mirror, deep down the rabbit hole of my obsession, this seems almost a normal, though terrible, statement.

"Because of me my best friend grew up in an abusive home? I did this to him?"

Albus shakes his head. "No. This was my doing from the moment the curse was reflected by Lily Potter, and my burden to bear. This is not what I meant, Hermione." He looks expectantly.

I know I must be better, and go through our entire conversation so far. "A domino picture... It is about which line is set into motion, which domino stone falls first, is it not?"

"It is."

"And what were the options?"

"To be taught how to fight or to learn how to fight."

I take deep breathes and let it sink in. What means being taught in contrast to learn?

And I know it almost immediately. Passive and active. Being a tool, a pupil, a vase to fill, or taking action, making decisions, finding out what you need. Listen to a teacher or listen to yourself and question everything.

"The teacher's maze," I say. "Set up to be beatable by children. Allowing us to make the decision, to do it together, find our strengths. Harry learned that he can lead, he can listen to his gut, trust in his friends, and conquer through _who he is_ at age eleven."

Albus smiles. "He and young Weasley. But I heard about what it did to you, later..."

"Collateral damage," I wave it away. There are bigger thinks at stake right now. I think about everything that happened to us since we set foot over the threshold of Hogwarts. When Albus was there and when he wasn't. What he said and what he never said. What he could have said instead. What he could have done instead.

"And what was the stone?" I whisper, and I know the answer before I even hear it.

"Hope."

Now I smile, too. "When?"

"Oh, around next week, on the astronomy tower."

And the strange focus dissolves, and reality takes over. Suddenly I can feel things again. I fall back into his chair, shaken by an odd mixture of laughing and crying. "Severus," I moan, "looks as if I am not only _your_ damn beginning."

I wipe the tears away. "Albus, please tell me... How hard did you have to fight to control your face whenever I yelled at you for using people as chess pawns? When it was, in the end, me all along? When I am the one responsible for all we went through because of our decisions? When it was my plan to do it like this, and my action that shaped the path, and my words that allowed all the consequences, all these lives are on me... Oh, I must tell them... I must ask their forgiveness..." The tears come again, but this time without the laughter.

"My dear friend. You must not. I will take the fall for you." He smiles gently. "Let it be. You will give an old wizard some information, and what he makes of it is not your choice nor your fault; but the saving of the world from a horrible fate - this is your doing, and Harry's and Severus' doing, and if I know only half as much about them as I hope I do, they would forgive you anyway."

I doubt it. But now that I know my role in this cruel game we are playing, I have no other choice than to bring it to an end; because the plan existed, and Harry became a _warrior_ instead of a _soldier,_ because he made _decisions_ instead of following _orders_ , and he only could do that because he learned to distrust authority, and question everything, just like I learned in the room. The three of us, Harry and Ron and me, will learn to distrust any authority, and thus learn to trust ourselves, mostly Harry, and because he made these experiences. Voldemort fell, and he has to fall, if I don't want our end to be one of the burned-out, red, dark mirror-dimensions I saw. Maybe they were the reflection all along.

So, despite my doubts and self-loathing, I find myself at the astronomy tower at the appointed time. I see his magic first. His bright, golden, good magic, untouched by cancer stains and pain. And then he is there, beard and half-moon glasses and eccentric robes and gentle smile. "Oh, Albus!" And before I can stop myself I have thrown myself into his arms, and tears stream down my face, and I hate my emotions for contradicting themselves even while I feel them.

"I'm sorry." I collect myself quickly and step away.

"Don't be, my dear. But I have to admit I am a little surprised." His eyes twinkle, and he smiles just like he used too.

"When did you see me last?'

"About a year ago, when I sent you back in the Ministry. When did you see me last?"

"Sorry, no. How much time do you have?"

"About seven minutes, I guess. And I guess I am, well, dead now? Considering your reaction?"

I smile and decide not to answer to that. "So I guess you used my Time-Turner and the glass, well, glasses of time sand I left you to decide and do the impossible, and travel to the future? And why, in the name of Merlins star-spangled underpants, did you think this was a good idea?" My voice goes shrill once more, and only now I realize how much I really care.

"Oh," he chuckles - he always does that when someone loses it in front of him.

_How very annoying._

_No, H, focus!_

"You told me to. Or, as I dare say, another version of you. Mirror-eyed, if I am not mistaken. A little intimidating."

That any version of me should be intimidating to Albus freaking Dumbledore leaves me a little proud and a little irritated.

"Did she also ask you to place the Mirror in the Room of Requirement?"

"Indeed, she did. Appeared one morning in my bathroom mirror, did not hold back on comments concerning my latest robe choices, and then told me where to put the mirror and how to travel in time. I have to admit I was close to suggest where to put her opinions altogether, but she is even more no-nonsense than Minerva. Not a very gentle fellow, your reflection."

"None of us are, I am afraid. Albus, as much as I enjoy this conversation, we have things to discuss." I step to his side as I am used to, and look over our castle.

He nods. "Go on, then. I am afraid I already have a clue where this leads to, but since you haven't said it I would prefer to not expect the worst."

Now, I nod. His mindset has always been like that. Hope comes always first for Albus Dumbledore. "Maybe you'll hate me for doing this to you, and I apologize." I get this out quickly before bravery leaves me alone. "But I figured it out, Albus. The magical lever problem. What to tell and what not to tell. What to do when everything you can do hurts someone. We discuss this quite often in the future, and I have always been sure that the best solution is to carry yourself what has been given to you. But the thing is, it never was about _what._ It is about _whom_. Who to give the information to. Not the people who maybe want it, but the people who need it."

I take a deep breath, and ensure myself of Dumbledore's encouraging smile. "Harry Potter is Lord Voldemorts last horcrux. The eight one. A piece of Tom Riddles soul lives in Harry. And in the end, Harry will walk to his death out of his own will and due to prophecy, and die by his hand, and then he will return and finish the fight for good."

I was never good at reading people, I know that now. My family, and my friends, and some teachers, and Severus of course. But for the rest, faces could as well be runes. I am not sure what I see in Dumbledore's face now. Hope? Grieve? Disgust?

"So, now it is time to face the worst," he says. "I must make James' and Lilis son believe that he has to die to save the world. And then he will return to live the life he surely deserves. I will lead, once again, children to war, and we will win. But how does it work? Returning?" He asks it calmly.

"Oh, I guess it's a Narnia thing. The nature of a sacrifice. If it is given freely it cannot be demanded. It must be a choice, Albus, a decision, never an order, never following blindly. He has to go on his own, head bloody but unbowed..." After thinking through a million ways to find the right words, I feel them fail me now.

But Albus does not fail me. "The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion," he quotes Camus and I know that he gets it. That Harry will triumph not because of prophecy but _despite_ prophecy, and that his loving heart is the heart of his legend, and nothing else.

Full of hope now I go on: "But, Albus, no one must know. Ever. This is your burden, as it is mine to put it upon you. Severus will help you. It will cost him his life, too, but I will break the laws of the universe and save him."

He nods, gravely and heavy. "I am not sure if I understood all of what you said to its every consequence, Hermione."

"Oh, you did. You will. I never knew what you were up to, why certain things happened the way they did. But now I know. Now I see it clear. And I trust in you, Albus. Protect Harry. Guide him. Lead him. Let him learn to feel at home at Hogwarts. Let him learn that he is strong, and that he is incredible. Right the wrongs as much as you can. The battle is set, Albus, and all the figures are yours to move. Let him learn to love the magical world. Love is the key."

"It always seems to be, does it not? I only ask one answer of you, my young friend: Will he ever forgive me?" And now I can read his face. He is begging.

"He already has," I say as gentle as I can, "That's the thing about Harry. His heart."

Dumbledore nods, and I nod, and then time rips us apart. Forever for me, and he will also never see me again like this. But I am not really sad. Instead, a strange and unknown feeling of accomplishment starts to fill me, starting in my toes and slowly rising to comfort my heavy heart. I fulfilled my duty, I did my part in the saving of our world. The battle is set. The pieces are moving. All is said and done. Voldemort falls.

And everything is well for everyone but me. The dead suffer no more. And the living have each other, a net even stronger than any magical healing dome, a net of arms and hands and beating hearts, the connection deep inside us that brought me back from the Red, that one thing inside us that is stronger than even the Abyss. My biggest and most terrible loss.

I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for doing this. For setting it all into motion. I don't know if I can ever figure out what I could have done instead. I know that I'll try, for the rest of my life. But there is one thing I can actually change, one promise I didn't fulfil: I told Severus to leave the future to me, to trust in me, and then I walked out of the Shrieking Shack. Now it is time to make up for that. Now it is time to built my very own future.

Out of a whim, I go back to tell the portrait about it. But instead of an answer, it swings open once more. And there, in the nook I could have sworn was empty before, lie two chess pieces: The Castle and the King.

Albus figured out what I meant with breaking the laws of the universe. And he is with me. We are even. I gave him what he needed, and gives me what I need - his blessing. I will make an exchange and save my dark prince. Sacrifice one piece to save a king, swap places and try again. Rochade.

 


	40. and, dropping, die, to trace a wound that heals

 

With shaking fingers, I tap my wand at the crystals to find Mirror-Me. We need to plan. And then, the weird thing happens - I make a mistake. I tap in a wrong order. The face that appears is still mine. Her hair is sleek, black, and she wears deep purple robes. In black silk sheets behind her, Lucius Malfoy is sleeping, his naked white skin a stark contrast to the gloomy room.

The snake part of her Dark Mark is so tall that it cringles up her whole arm. Her eyes are red, and she stares in the mirror without blinking as she applies a perfect winged eyeliner, without even flinching as the picture changes so drastically. I forget how to speak and how to breathe as I stare at her, and she stares at me.

"Ah, so in your version I already won?" The tiny voice in my head has decided to come out for once and take over. The devil on the shoulder, indeed, thinking the unthinkable. I ask it lazily, amused.

"Yes." Her voice is as hiss. DarkLord-Hermione finishes her makeup. It is perfect.

"How did you do it?"

"Find out yourself."

"I am literally talking to myself. And I am working on my own thing. Just curious."

Her blood-red lips smile, her eyes don't, she shrugs. "Time-travelled to the seventies, befriended Snape, revealed myself when Lupin attacked him. We fled the castle, got picked up by V, undermined him, killed him when he came for Lily, got thrown back in time, took my rightful place."

"Been there, done that, just returned. This mirror shows dimensions, not times. So, Lucius?"

"Entertaining."

“Snape?"

"Weak. Married Lily and raised Harry, widowed, broken, always drunk. Be smart, don't try to save his pathetic skin again. Leave that step out, go straight for the power."

Lucius moves behind her. "Gotta go. Don't disturb me again." The last thing I see is her fist crashing her side of the mirror. Wow. That was scary. Now, more careful than ever, I tap the stones the correct amounts of times. She is there, waiting.

"I got the Time-Turner."

"Good. But you look shaken."

"I met... DarkLord-Us."

"Ug, I've met her too. Bangs both Malfoys. Compared to her, even I did well."

"How is your eye?"

"Growing. l would show you but it's disgusting, the iris is all white."

"Errr..."

"Haven't we got stuff to do?" The other me smiles cockily. And suddenly, the big wave of doubt rushes over me. How can I ever manage to do all that? And Severus, does he even _want_ this? Does he want to come to the mirrorworld? Him, at least, I must tell the truth, once we made it. Doing so to anyone else would make life insufferable for Mirror-Me, and I promised her healing. She deserves to heal, and Albus already took the fall for me.

Do I even deserve that?

Am I really helping anyone? Or is this the most selfish stunt I'm ever going to pull? That sleek -haired, cold version of me, how close am I really to her?

Can I pull this off? Do I have the right to pull this off? Once I found myself at the metaphorical crossroad with Albus, hoping that my way would be more clear, more honest, more Gryffindor. Now, apparently I am about to blow up the whole damn road, to hold the one promise I am not too late for. I have promised to protect Hogwarts and failed, I have promised to myself to not become a player in a real-life game of chess and was doomed to fail from the beginning, and once I have promised Severus to take care of the future. Bloody bollocking pile of dragon shit, really!

Looks like I said the last part out loud. "What's it, Goodie-two-shoes-me?"

Annoyed by the disturbance, I give her a look. "Uh, nothing, Pirate-me, only my damn need for consent making things difficult again." She has her heavy dragonhide boots on the table and roasts flies with her wand. I roll my eyes at her. She smirks. My mind returns to Severus. How will he feel? Manipulated, overrun, outnumbered, patronized? Or hopeful, even glad to be alive?

And suddenly all I can think of are Albania's forests, and the ridiculously turquoise-blue lakes, and the mountains, and castles, and the soft ground under my feet, and the person I left there. Felix. Swinging hips and crocked grins, heavy boots and leather jackets, brown fingers digging in fur blankets, coffee out of email mugs, black curls in messy braids. The woman he fell in love with, the woman I am when I'm at my best, the woman who has no doubts and bursts with energy. We could both be at our best again.

"Listen. We will do it. We will pull this off. But in case... maybe Severus doesn't want to come."

She shrugs. "Then you have to drag a corpse back. It must be even. Two come, two leave."

"Did you talk to Silver-Eye?"

"I did."

"How can I find her?"

"You can't. She finds you. But she told me all she knows about the whole process while you gave the headmaster the strings to make your friends dance on. The rest, we have to find out ourselves."

I nod at that.

To be honest, I have always loathed group projects. Usually it ended up with me doing the work. But working with my other self is even harder. We push each other like no one else can. But I must admit that, deep inside my heart I enjoy it. And I know it can be done. Albus did it. Three times. Two times for me, one time for himself. Long-term time-travelling. He did it, and he even did it forwards, but for me there is no forwards. All I can do is to go back. All I can do is what I do best: Do the damn work.

"Hermione is back," greets Madam Pince when I drag board-loads of books to my dorm.

"Hermione is back," says McGonagall when I keep and keep asking her about magical theory.

"Hermione is back," says Professor Sinistra as she answers my questions about planets and constellations.

"Hermione is back," smiles Harry as he comes to visit and finds me curl-deep in books, papers, notes and scripts.

"Hermione is back," says Ron, as he once again sees me disappear in a world of research where he can't, or won't, follow.

And yes. I am back. The muggles have recently developed google. The Hogwarts library has _me._ There has never been an organized keyword search, instead there are go-to students for special fields of research. The professors encourage this, hoping to enforce comradeship, ending up with innerhouse fudging, secrecy, favours and favouritism, hidden books and island successes. Students, even more so when measured in house points, just aren't social creatures.

And, well, there is me. Since I basically live in the library again, students approach me as they did in the past. It has come to days where I just point in the right direction, naming books, chapters, sometimes even paragraphs with the desired information without even looking up. Hermione is back. This is what I'm good at. This is what I really, really know how to do. Both of us. It is just another way of hunting. One we have perfected at age 10.

Our meetings are madness. We stand in front of each other, barraging lines of information as if we were living machine guns, throwing concepts, theories and ideas, sometimes endless one-word-chains that peak in the exhausted yelling of contradicting theorems. And there is always the joker – Silvereye. Mirror-eye. The one version of us you can't find, the one that finds you, and she is helping us.

Our plans are detailed, meticulous, triple-fold safeguarded, colour coded and key-locked. I have blown away the ashes in a small tornado and set up the white, blue, chrome lab of my childhood dreams. We both have blackboards all around us, networks and red threat and notes and floating formula. It is an interdisciplinary project of Astronomy, Arithmancy, Spellwork, university level Magical Material Science and a (sorry) fuckton of esoteric and sheer dumb luck.

At least, I don't really need to worry about the act of saving him itself. Since Severus saved Arthur Wesley's life that Christmas a million years ago, the anti-venom is already there. Oh, the irony. The only one who can save him is himself. He's going to _love_ that, the arrogant bastard. How I miss him. How much easier it would be to work hand in hand with him again. But now it's my turn. It will be me who comes for him. It will always be me who comes for him.

Filly gets me his notes, and in my few free hours I work on it. Good thing most of the work is done. I am good at making potions, not inventing them. Still, it needs to be better, quicker, stronger, so I practice it, change it, re-do it, and combine powdered Bezoar and moon stone and myrtles' and anything else I can raid Poppy's stock for. It only explodes, like, four times.

We also drill details of our lives into each other, differences, inside jokes, small moments, the way we move and say things and how we glance at someone annoying, who is to trust and who is to like and who to hate in the new worlds. We will soften out the habits in time, grow into some and leave some behind, but for Operation Day, it must be perfect. There will be no mistakes. I practice the distances I will have to cross. I practice in the Shrieking Shack, find hideouts and view angles, count steps and seconds, draw red lines of light where curses flew and hover them blindfolded at night. No mistakes.

And then, suddenly, in the mid of June, we are done.

"That's it," Mirror-Me says in the silence of scribbled notes.

I look up. I stare at the words and formula floating between us. She is right. That's it. We did it. It is June, and we did it. It is June and we are prepared. It is June and I am not afraid.

But suddenly, she seems to be worried. "Your... my parents. What if they known I'm an imposer?"

"They won't," I assure her. She needs to hear it again. " Remember, they get their memory back piece by piece, to avoid the trauma I went through. Right now they think you're three years old, just showed the first accidental magic. And the more you'll help in the process, the more they will think that it has been you they remembered all along. And it has been years. It could very well be."

She takes a deep breath. "Mum and Dad. I can't believe it."

"Well you better start." And we nod at each other, knowing that I can't believe it either. She will get back Harry, Ron, her parents, and a magical world to shape to her own wishes. And I -

I stop myself there. I don't have time for this yet. There is still work to do, and my schedule is tight. Tomorrow. It will be tomorrow. I sleep well that night, wake up happy, leave a mess of homework in my dorm I don't intend to finish, and have a big breakfast with my favourite sort of coffee. Luna comes right to me after the meal and hugs me tight. "Good luck," she says, "with whatever makes your eyes bright again."

I hug her back, and still feel her bony arms as I sneak out of potion class (oh the irony) twenty minutes before twelve. My beaded bag presses heavily against my muggle military pants I wore under the robes. The robes turn to a tight sweater with a poke of wand, and the red phoenix feather I have braided in my hair is no longer invisible. I hover on.

The roof of the Room of Requirement has turned to glass, reaching to the sky. Delicate bows of steel hold it as well as the huge Fibanocci spiral of hanging prisms, each fixed in such a way that energy will be guided to multiply to a never-known strength in the center of the spiral.

The ground holds a spiral, too; clear black marble cut in the white ground, and diamonds mirror the position of each prism. In the middle between heaven and earth is the mirror. The Time-Turner, week, day, minute and second are set, is around my neck.

Wingardium Leviosa. The mirror is levitating free in the middle of a sapphire ring, exactly twelve. I stole them from the hourglasses. Mirror-Me and I are face to face. I hover on my board. She stands on a table. A clock ticks. And then the alarm rings.

The eruption of the sun will channel energy through the glass roof and prisms, it will multiply and grow, light and magic break and break and reunite until they reunite to a pure, white beam of light that will hold the mirror from above. And the Ley Crosses under the castle, the main knot point right under the Room, where the castle is rooted in the very magic of the earth itself, will answer. It is their purpose to channel, to guide, to structure, to answer magical current. A blue beam will break out and hold the mirror from beyond. The mirror will be right in the hearts of the two spirals.

The remaining light beams will be reflected, and get caught in the sapphires that built the knot points of the hugest magical geometric figure ever created; from there they will be led to the mirror as well, just as pain is led through the healing dome - only that we reversed this, too, and instead of a controlled outlet of current, each knot point generates another beam towards the mirror.

We are channeling many different beams of magical energy to meet at one point, just as muggles direct lasers, just as I saw it in my aunt's lab as a child. It is the opposite of the workings of an Occlumentic routine and the healing principles, based on the formula that describes the perfection of nature, to form and lead and use the rawest, purest form of magic, inspired by the net the first druids have created. In the end, all you need is the right way of thinking.

And since we both learned the muggle world first, with sciences and physics and footprints on the moon, all we had to do was to _apply_. And to hope.

No-one has ever tried it. It can only be done here, at the heart of Great Britains magic, at Hogwarts. And, to even have a chance of success, it will have to be perfect, complete, flawless. We only get one chance.

Once all the beams unite in the middle of the mirror, a portal will open, or the mirror will break, or it will rip the multiverse apart.

The sun passes the last mark before it will reach the estimated perfect position, and all I can do is wait and stare in awe at what we have created; the unification of everything I have ever learned and experienced in my first world and my second one, bound together by red string on the map of my life, and me standing in the middle of it all, looking up. This final moment that includes every step of the way, and I begin to feel that it has not been in vain, that every path I ever walked, even the darkest and most painful ones, has led me to this exact moment in time and space, where the multiverse is holding its breath, in this room, where everything that has been lost may return to. Dolor hic tibi proderit olim. One day, this pain will make sense to you. And maybe, just maybe, one day will be today.

 

The alarm rings again. The sun erupts. The colours travel. The Ley Lines answer.

"In with a lightning, out with a blast," I whisper and hope for the best.

Three.

Two.

One.

 

Light.

 

 

* * *

Chapter Soundtrack: M83 with Un Nouveau Soleil

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36mlX318Q3w

 


	41. only to reopen as flesh congeals:

 

 

The mirror disappears in a radiating, buzzing, flashing icosahedron of pure energy. Then, the mirror swallows the light, it swallows it whole. Once I can look again, the surface is clear, unbroken water. Slowly, a hand touches it from the inside, watches the ring of waves grow. Now the time has come to be brave. And with a single determined step, she is through. The mirrors are gates after all.

There is a reason why it has never been tried before. The universe demands balance. Having two of the same in one world leads to turbulences. The worlds try to set themselves right, push and pull the odd man out. It hurts.

But this isn't the first time I've held it together in mid-air. I pull her through fully, and place her safely behind me, and hide us both. Our wristwatches beep. We have calculated the exact amount of time the portal can stay open without damage or destruction or Armageddon, and also the exact time span we'll have in the past.

And with the precision, discipline and ultimate understanding of myself by my side, I go into operation mode. "Fourteen minutes twelve from now. Go."

She holds on tight and I rush out of the room to throw us right out of the window. We hurry to the Whomping Willow as fast as I dare with my untrained passenger, but her battle-hardened body adjusts quickly. If it wouldn't have been for the pain, I might almost have enjoyed it. My faithful Crooks silences the tree, and in the warmth of Mirror-Me towards the cat I lose the tiny rest of doubt. Three minutes gone. I put the Time-Turner necklace around our throats and start the second count-down.

Time rips us away to the battle of Hogwarts. It is night, and the world is burning, the castle is crying out behind me, but I cannot save it. I can only save one.

The watches beep. Ten minutes exactly. Go.

I see Severus hurry to the tunnel, and while he walks we hover above, unseen, unheard, in pain. I have taken the memories he gave to Harry and watched them a million times, stopped and protocolled every painful minute and now I am glad.

At six minutes ten seconds we reach our hideout.

At four minutes thirty-eight seconds the snake is done.

At four minutes exactly Harry has the memories.

At three minutes and twenty seconds Severus croaks "Look at me," and the younger Hermione _understands_. Somehow, somewhere in her heart, she knows what she cannot know, amd yet she does, that her whole world is bleding out in front of her. The heart has a way. They lock eyes, and he loses consciousness knowing that he is loved, so loved, and she is frozen in horror.

My watch beeps at three minutes, and I speak Imperio. You have to want it. I want it. I know that I will succeed. Because I already have. I raise my wand. Harry and Ron freeze, and then their faces turn empty. I make myself visible and smile at my younger self. "It will be all right," I say and wipe her memories too before I push us out of the door, with a blurry mind and a heavy heart and a whispering demon inside of her, push her to battle. The boys will never know. And then I turn around. Mirror-me, the steel-eyed wolf, the war hero with fire in her veins and titanium in her heart, stares at the door, and tears stream down her face. Tears of wonder, tears of relieve, tears of pure, untainted, golden joy. Her mouth is open and her lip is shivering, and I understand that she hadn't allowed herself to hope until now.

The world skips a beat once more, and things fall into their rightful place within seconds. A seventeen years old Hermione Jane Granger, full of love and hope for the future, has stepped up. And a twenty-two years old Hermione Granger will make it so, will save her, too. I nod her a reassuring it-will-be-fine, and turn to Severus.

There is no time to be afraid, no time to doubt, it's now or never, and had there ever been a time in which _never_ was an option? I stop his bleeding with my wand, built a dome made of memories and hope and guide his pain through my body. I help him drink the potion. I feel his heart beating under my fingertips. We are not done, not done, not done.

All will be well. In a few hours it all will be over. In a few months, they will have another Hermione stepping in right where I'm leaving. The one they deserve. The one that never was a ghost. The one that wants this so desperately it burns the heart out of her, the one absolutely capable of protecting them from whatever the future brings. The one who can tie all the knots to this world with her very own hands.

The pain gets stronger. As if the universe tries to press one of us away, to fix what is obviously wrong. I do my best to not look at the soulless, shrinked to mouse size thing in the glass, that once was their version of Severus Snape. I never asked how she got him, I never asked what it did to her, doing this. Still, I know that I will never be able to forget what this creature is like, neither will I be able to forget how my Mirror-self behaves. If there wouldn't have been the softness and the love in her voice when it comes to Harry and Ron, our parents, our world, I would have never let her out. But it is there, and the dice fave fallen, and we have to go through with it now anyway.

It is there, she is still me, and no matter what she'll do with her life, I know one thing for sure - she is whole in herself, unbroken, firm in her believe and sure about herself, and she will protect all those I love, with a love so strong and hopeful and determined it presses universes together just to let her through.

_Get it together, H. One horrible hour. Three lives saved. No more time for this._

"Herm..."

"Oh, Severus!" I forget my surroundings, and whatever Mirror-me does behind my back is no longer of importance.

"Severus... Oh, Severus, I am here, I am here, I found a way to save you, but we don't have time, I will explain it but you have to trust me, I-I-I'm so sorry I left you alone," I say.

"But you never did." He smiles strangely.

"What? But..."

"Do you... trust me?" He is so in pain.

"Yes of course!" I cry.

"One day is today," he says.

Time rips me away like a slap in the face. I twist and twist and twist, and when I crash land on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and see the note, saying "Meet me at my office, dearest Hermione," I yell: "I am going to kill you my fucking self, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!"

But of course I don't kill him. I storm into the office once more, and rip the door open, and then I stand there. Hermione Granger is asleep on Albus' couch, and Severus is standing by her side, holding her hand. Albus smiles at me.

"Ah, Hermione. Now this starts to be _interesting_."

"Albus. Albus, what have you done?"

He looks like a little boy you caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar. "Yeah, well. Severus told me how desperate you were that you had to leave him and Hogwarts, that you were ripped apart between your friends and your love. Remember our little meeting on the tower, in the future?"

"I..."

"You told me what would happen, and at what price. And I, my dear, am more than willing to pay it, but I am not willing to let anyone else pay it. That is the lesson I learned in my relatively long life." He smiles gently.

"So you just decided to not only built the strongest and most powerful Time-Turner in history, but to voice-trigger-code it as well? And if someone would have said that sentence before?"

"Well, that would have been quite unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

"This... this is no joke! I... I almost said it in your office! And what if it can't being us back to the proper timeline now? We can't stand being in the same world for months, it will kill us. We had a plan!"

"I assure you, it will bring you exactly where you need to go once the time comes again. Because, as you may remember, it can jump forwards. I am quite certain that the time sand will allow one last jump for three persons, from the fateful night in May to another, not at all less important night in June."

"Quite certain. You're doing this for... _quite certain_."

"I am doing this for you, Hermione. Because I will not stand you being ripped apart. Not after all you have done and suffered through for us. Why do you have to be ripped apart? Why can't you have it all, Hermione? The answer is, you can have both. Hermione Granger will help Harry on his quest to win the war, and the invisible Whisper will be guarding the castle. And when the day of the battle comes, you will do what you can, and then you will go to the place where you are needed, and save our Severus."

"Albus, that's exactly where I just came from! I was just about to save him! We did... we did the _math_ , Albus!"

Albus shrugs. "So what's the problem? From now on, and I can promise you this, your life will only be lived forwards. Just await the right minute and keep going where you left of."

I open my mouth, close it, and open it again. I stare. Albus smiles. He says: "All my life, where I loved, I caused irreparable damage. But not this time. This time, it will be good. Mirror-you told me."

"This is... the most beautiful selfish thing anyone has ever done for me and themselves," I hear myself say.

He laughs.

I stare at him again. Then I stare at Severus. Then I understand. The strangely organized battle. The death toll, which is, through it may be horrible, bearable, when you look at it with a cold, hard brain. How quickly Severus appeared in the Shrieking Shack after I was caught. How sure he was that he could deal with the memory spell. My friends, claiming to have been under the Cruciatus, without having that... _brokeness_ upon them. How Poppy looked at me in the hallways. And Severus said that he hasn't been left by me for one moment. _The castle has its ways._

Suddenly I understand. It is a gift. The gift of time. The gift to do it right. The gift to fulfil all my promises, all my oaths, to follow all ways of my heart. And it has already happened. It must have happened. It will happen. This is my Dumbledore Special. The vague promise of happiness that lingered in between.

 

"I have faith in you. Now, please forgive me one last time." Albus says. I smile at him, and I will always be glad that I did it. It is the last thing I do before his soft sleeping curse hits me out of thin air. Once again I will not be there when he takes his last fall. Once again I will be safe, and not change the future. 

I wake up in my camp, yet unburnt, in the Room of Requirenment. Glittering dust dances in pillars of sunlight. And I know that Albus is gone, again, but he will always be here, in this room, in his chair, on top of the astronomy tower, in a half moon and in the cycling phoenx that never stops. I look at the task in front of me, that will gently put together all my broken parts, and for the first time since darkness fell I feel so, so light. 

 


	42. cycling phoenix never stops.

 

It is hard. Harder than I could have imagined. I am everywhere. The castle leads me, the ghosts guide me, the cats hide me, the house-elves smile at me, and the few teachers that can see me help me whenever they can.

I fly. And I move. I cast shields, and I cast spells, and hundreds and hundreds of invisible, hidden healing domes, and I channel pain away before it digs its claws into the hearts and souls of children, _children,_ who never were a whisper and never were a hunter, who never jumped in time, never made their parents forget them, never held themselves together in mid-air. Pain is the enemy, and as the year goes by I stay undefeated.

And their eyes shine with a hard fire, _heads bloody but unbowed_ , and they stand together, feeling tough and strong and rogue warriors, hardened to pain and fear and suffering, immortal in the face of the long night - of course they are, but their backs are never to the wall. I have their back.

And I am more tired than ever before, and at night I meet Minerva, and tell her everything and everything I know about battles. We plan on chess boards, and draw maps in ash and hide it in the wind, and I whisper spells and ideas. She doesn't really know who I am. She knows _that_ I am, and that I am of Hogwarts, and that is enough for her. In time we line up our allies, right under the nose of the Death Eaters. They hide in our secret chambers and hidden ways; house elves whisper with the centaurs the in the forest, hippogriffs nest in the pine trees, and a lonely giant makes his rounds on the ground. And the children, my so very young friends, tell each other that Hogwarts is with them, and wants them to win. It is, it does, and it sent me to ensure it.

But a war is not won on a single battlefield; a lair of spiders traps vampires far east before they can even set foot to Great Britain; an old woman with a knack for wool knits a net of curses against men and women in silver masks to weaken their aim and let them tangle in doubt, Bulgarian Quidditch players burn Dementors right from the skies over their breeding swamps, and a Phoenix cycles around a castle with eyes as old as life itself, and never stops.

And then, there is Severus. Severus who sleeps in my arms, Severus who knows me hovering above him in the halls, Severus who holds my hand when he looks over the grounds. Severus who listens to my confessions, and forgives me, really forgives me, and asks me to me whisper futures and plans in his ear instead, of travels through mirrors, parallel worlds and a house by the sea, where it is clear and blue, and not grey and misty, under a strong sun that doesn't allow Dementors to exist. And after each meeting he hides me in his mind again, but he never asks me to disappear, and I never want to disappear from him. And he plays all of his roles at once, the Death Eater, the Spy, the Teacher, and protects where he can, as good as he can.

And I know that we are making it. That we are actually, really making it. That we minimize the damage and fight the pain and set our battle, the great battle of our time. That we are getting it right, this time.

But what really ensures me, more than anything else, is one moment at dawn, three days before the battle, when I don't see myself in Severus' bathroom mirror. Instead, there is the girl I saw once in a dream and once in the Red: Younger, with braids and glasses and floating formula around her, and eyes like mirrors. She has come to me at last.

We don't talk. I don't ask her all the things I probably should, about who she is, and why she is, and where she is, and what she is doing, and why all mirrors are windows to her. I learned something about information, about when to give it and when to hide it, and I am damn sure that she wouldn't tell me a thing either.

But she nods, and smiles, and then makes the picture disappear. And this is all I have needed. She is, for all I know, the real reflection. Maybe the mind behind a whole net. And she approves. The Warden of Mirrors approves, and she smiles from the space between glass and silver, where the worlds collide and all the ways part. And I know now that everything will work out.

The battle comes. And we fight. And yes, I do save lives. All I can. And then it is time, and I bid my quiet farewell to Minerva and Poppy, and my friends, and my world. I love it, and I did so much to save it. And it has been saved, but not for me. I wait in the Shack, I wait and hover and hold back, I see Voldemort and the snake attack Severus, and I hover above it all. And this time, again, no one looks up.

And it hurts, it hurts so much, when there are three of us, _four of us,_ in the same moment in time in the same dimension, but three of us held ourselves together in mid-air, and one of us lost her eye and her friends and her hope, and we refuse to let go, and then it is over already. The youngest-us leaves, the two others break out of their hideout, one saves Severus' Snapes life, one pulls a soulless shell of a Severus out of a mason jar and makes him lifeless, too.

Younger-me is on her knees and holds his hand and she helps him drink, eyes pressed close as she builds the healing dome around him. I always thought the dome is weak and shaky, but it is perfect, iridescent, fluorescent, beautiful. The dome fades, and tears fall, and he opens his eyes.

"Severus... Oh, Severus, I am here, I am here, I found a way to save you, but we don't have time, I will explain it but you have to trust me, I-I-I'm so sorry I left you alone," she says.

"But you never did." He smiles, and now I understand how he smiles - knowingly, faithfully.

"What? But..."

"Do you... trust me?" He is so in pain. So broken. And still so whole. We will make it. We will have time. Time to heal.

"Yes of course!" She shrieks. Wow. My voice is horrible. I have to stop that.

" _One day is today_ ," he says.

Dolor hic tibi proderit olim. One day this pain will make sense to you. One day is today. And all I have lost has returned to me, thanks to Albus' mad, crazy, amazing plan, and all I went through led me to this one brilliant moment.

She disappears.

I reappear and move through the room with few, long strides. Other-me lifts an eyebrow. I grin.

"What was that for?"

"Consent. Got it. Dumbledore special. Yes, we still get back. Time?"

"Two minutes exactly."

This is what I have hoped. No holes in this net. We are still in time. Mirror-Me places the soulless Severus on the floor. We nod at each other, I put the chain around my own throat and Severus, and her. We look around. We look at each other. We hold on close, feel the pull of time. Our minutes are almost over.

Three. Two. One.

Gone.

We re-appear under the willow. Crooks looks at me. I check the clock.

Four minutes twelve.

We did not land exactly where we left off. The Time-Turner is not perfect. Albus made a mistake.

Now, things get _interesting._

"Farewell, my friend. Thank you." Mirror-me wiggles out of the chain. This is how I want to remember her, picking up Crooks and holding him gently, smiling as brightly as the sun. "Go!," she says.

Four minutes to get back to the mirror.

"Hold on tight!" And now I fly. Once again wind whips me, the night scares me, the air presses against me, and I feel the weight of Severus behind me. And I fly like I never have before and never will again. Right up to the window of the sixth floor, with the heavy body secured behind me, I race against time once more. I've got what it takes, but it takes all I've got, my arms shake, and my clenched teeth hurt to the roots, and I can't do this for much longer -

When I see the sixth-floor window I leave secrecy and burst right through with a Bombarda.

Fourty seconds left.

The door of the Room of Requirement swings open. There are no closed doors for the Warden. The magical current is so strong that I am hit with electricity, and is reeks of chlorine, and it is unfathomably bright. The magic _flickers_.

For a moment, I am scared that we will crash into the mirror surface and shatter it. But then we are through.

We crash-land in the wall of a huge, bright, pleasant room. It is surprisingly soft. A mattress magic-glued to the wall and a reticle drawn onto it. We hit it right in the middle. She is me and I am her.

My watch beeps.

Zero.

For a while we just lay on the ground, breathing, and watch the red hot glowing mirror frame turn cold and golden again.

After a few minutes someone bursts into view in the mirror, out of breath. The girl on the other side smiles, a bright, happy, clear smile. She gives me a thumbs-up, and then something white and heavy covers the mirror.

I see it right in front of me. The Room with the glass roof and the prisms, and the spiral of mosaic stones on the ground, and a huge mirror under a white sheet in the middle. One more of the many wonders of Hogwarts. Dust will dance and light will fall in, and three people are saved, and the multiverse did not break.

It is time for peace.

I close my eyes for a moment. All I hear is my own heartbeat, and Severus' steady breathing beside me. And I feel the same smile emerge on my face, mirrored, enhanced, freed. I open my eyes again.

"Hermione?"

"I am here. We made it."

"And now... what?"

"Now, I guess, we break out. And we steal the mirror, I think. And then... whatever we want. How about Australia?"

 


	43. Epilogue

 

There is a woman with brown eyes and bushy hair, who is called the brightest witch her age.

In one version of reality, the brown eyes have seen too much to be still innocent, and the bushy hair is tamed into an elegant chignon. The woman, accompanied by a tall man in dark robes, wanders down a dusty road with long, determined steps, the sand of time still glitters on their skin. When they reach the dirty, small little house they aimed for, they stop for a moment. They hear a little girl cry inside, and a man shouts at her. In perfect synchronization, they pull their wands, glamour themselves, and smile at each other, since they look even more serious and remarkable now.

"Ready to be a dad?"

He smirks. "Which man is, ever?"

"You can still get out, if you want," says the woman.

"Never," answers the man. They enter the house, ready to change the fate of the little Merope, and with that, their whole word.

 

In another version of reality, the brown eyes are both proud and sad at the same time. The woman clings to her red-haired husband a little more than she normally would, as she sets her youngest child off to the train. Her best friend smiles at her, knowingly, and does his best to act as if no one stares at him.

Nobody, not even her husband who seems to know every freckle on her soft skin, has ever noticed that one of her eyes is not exactly as dark as the other. But they do notice that from time to time, when she laughs, she stops as if she wonders that she can laugh so brightly. But they all had to relearn it, so nobody minds. They only hug her a little tighter, touch her for longer, smile a little wider. They have always been strong together.

In yet another version of reality, an ocean reflects in the eyes. A silent beach and red rocks, a hidden cottage that not even the kangaroos seem to notice, lie in peaceful silence. Quietly, she sits on the huge white swing, and has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. A man steps to her on the veranda. Carefully, he makes some noises on purpose, so she won't get scared when ripped out of her thoughts.

He wouldn't have to - she already knows that he is there. She always does. She leans on him, and he puts his hands on her shoulders as if they belong there.

"So, you talked to the mirror, love?"

"Yes. Same as every year. They are fine. Setting the kids up to Hogwarts. She is... happy, Severus."

"Jealous?"

"No. Really, no."

"Wasn't that the dream?"

She gets up, and turns around to him, and takes his hands. "You're the dream."

He smiles down at her, happily, and then mischievous. "Good. Because, if you were too sad, you maybe couldn't appreciate this."

He gets out a nice, velvet-covered box. The woman opens it. On a bed of velvet sit two fake mustaches.

Slowly, a smile creeps into her face, colour comes back, and her eyes twinkle.

"And also, this." With a wave of wand, a helicopter appears on the dune. "Happy anniversary, Felix Felicis. We've got a mission." He waves a closed envelope.

Hand in hand, they run to the helicopter. The simple silver bands around their fingers click, the single engraved word lights up, like it always does when the rings touch. But they don't have time to look down and admire the golden glowing _Fine_ , they keep running, and lift off to the wide, blue, open sky, and the glittering sea under them.

She says: "I do not regret it. Not one moment. And I never will." The woman called brightest witch her age is used to be right, and she spoke with great confidence. And this time, once more, she is absolutely right.

 

And in another version of reality, a mirror-eyed woman pulls both hands through her cornrow braids and sighs in relieve. Five down. Two more to go.

The multiverse had strict laws about balance. Once upon a time she had turned seven people to stone in a never-before seen outbreak of accidental child magic, and with that created an imbalance worse enough to rip time and space apart entirely. The only way to prevent the whole damn galaxy from collapsing was to save seven people, and since everyone (at least everyone smart) knew that the only one you can ever truly save is yourself, she would continue to save her damned self, until the debt was paid. There was, after all, more than the literal way of turning to stone.

Hermione Granger gets herself another cup of coffee, and makes sure not to think about the smallest detail, of her father reading the Odyssey to her instead of King Arthur the day before The Fall on the playground, the day that changed everything. Not dragons and fire and bluebell flames to stop it, to call for help; the Medusa and cold stone instead. Our thoughts shape our decisions and our decisions shape who we are, what we are... She shakes her head. She doesn't need these thoughts right now. She needs a clear mind.

"Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,  
and god or void appall us till we drown  
in our own tears: today we start  
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love  
knows not of death nor calculus above  
the simple sum of heart plus heart." she quotes to bring herself back to focus.

The syllables, and her formulas, and secret meaning behind the secret meanings of the most important poem of world's most powerful Seer and Master of Arithmancy, known as Sylvia Plath among the muggles; the code she has learned to understand over the years, tell her what she needs to know about the new coordinates.

Quickly and with natural confidence, she adjusts the runes, wards and gemstones around the mirror until she sees the image of herself with straight hair, a huge snake tattoo and perfect makeup, staring at the mirror this version had just recently broken. There is still blood on her knuckles.

Hermione makes her own knuckles crack, shakes her braids and gets ready to work. She sighs, it is way more easier when she finds her subjects in earlier years, but with every success, the crack in the universe heals a little more, and leaves her less room to work with.

Still, she isn't worried. It was still her she was talking about, right? She focuses on her new aim, another thread in the delicate net she is weaving.

"... yet love knows not of death nor calculus above the simple sum of heart plus heart.” she mumbles. In the end, it is all just math. Calculus. Arithmancy. Relativity. Mutliverses. Everything is the same, in the end, everything is just a tiny dot on the Fibanocci Spiral of dancing galaxies.

She has seen them. And now, she is about to see another one of her many possible selves.

The split second their eyes met was enough to open the channel between their minds, a steady flow only truly alike minds can maintain. Out of nowhere, she makes the image of Jiminy Cricket appear in her mirrrorverse counterpart's head.

_Look at that, H. Nice mess you maneuvered yourself into, right?_

Conscience? Now? Really?

_Did you miss me?_

 

  
***

Hello there, dear readers. Now we made it to the end together :) Thank you very much for the encouragement, the kudos, and the lovely comments! I know this was a piece of work. Believe me - not only for you.

Please don't hesitate to contact me for questions, opinions, flowers, offers of collaborations or gift baskets, etc. Hihi :)

The Plath poem that forms the titles and is quoted in the epilogue is called "Love is a parallax". Read it up if you like, it's wonderful and worth the time.

The song that named the story is called "Before We Turn To Stone" by Ingrid Michaelson and can be heard here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1RPVp2HPMdo

A very big thank you goes out to my two amazing Betas, who stuck with me through the whole year this took, and through every "no one is going to get it" - "wait for it" discussion we had, and had to bear with my overly smug grin once the conclusions came. I know I'm not easy to work with. Thank you so, so much for doing it anyway.

 

 

 

 


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